Fuga In Accipitrum
by Cadsuane
Summary: When fleeing Ferelden, Seren Hawke and her family are sold into slavery in Tevinter instead of making it to Kirkwall. Separated, Seren finds herself sold to Danarius.
1. Chapter 1

Written for a kmeme prompt.

**AN:** This was begun before we had the tease of information that Danarius almost certainly sexually abused Fenris in some way, and I based my beliefs on their relationship on what Fenris said and how he behaved in game. While I'm not changing what I wrote, readers should feel free to assume that Danarius lots of terrible things before he turned Fenris in a living weapon.

Fuga In Accipitrum means "The Hawke's Flight."

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

The first time Fenris saw her, she was on her knees in the middle of Danarius's courtyard, wrists and ankles shackled and bound, glaring up at the magister as if she could flay the skin from his bones by sheer force of will.

Danarius walked around her in slow circles, the cloth of his robes whispering as he examined her. The auction master who'd brought her listed off all of her faults—stealing, attempted escapes, defiance, insolence. The list was damning for a slave in Tevinter and it was a wonder she still breathed.

"And why," the magister breathed softly when the large, muscled man finally fell silent, "did you see fit to bring her to me? What use would I have for a slave like that?"

The auction master nodded respectfully, but the moisture on his brow and the slight fluttering of his fingers betrayed his nervousness. Fenris watched impassively, knowing the man was no threat to his master, but continued to behave according to the training that had been ground into him.

"I normally wouldn't ever dream of dishonoring your house with one such as this, Magister Danarius, if it wasn't for two qualities she does possess."

"Oh? Do continue." There was a touch of curiosity in Danarius's voice, and a hint of threat. If whatever the auctioneer said displeased the magister, he would feel Danarius's wrath most keenly.

The man nodded again, a bead of sweat forming on his temple and then running down his cheek. "She has spirit, ser."

"I have no use for a slave with spirit, except to break them of it."

"Of course, ser, but you have mentioned in the past that _certain_ slaves with spirit are useful to you." At that, he glanced quickly at Fenris and then back to Danarius.

The magister's expression grew thoughtful as he followed the auctioneer's look, and he slowly stroked his beard. "You might be right in that _some_ cases spirited slaves are useful. But their uses are very narrow indeed. Spirit alone is hardly a reason for me to be interested."

"You are absolutely correct, Magister. Normally, one like her would only be suitable for manual labor. But…you said you were looking for a compliment to your bodyguard." Another quick look at Fenris. "I think she might be what you're looking for."

The conversation caught Fenris's attention and he immediately focused on the scene before him, taking in exactly what was happening and being said, instead of just allowing the conversation to flow over him.

Danarius's expression became calculating. "She fights?"

"Yes, ser."

"What discipline?"

"Dual wielding."

For the past few years, Danarius had become obsessed with finding another to make into a bodyguard like Fenris. But it wasn't quite as easy as simply selecting another fighter. To begin with, Danarius needed a slave—it was highly unlikely any free guard or warrior would submit to such a procedure—and slaves were generally discouraged from any type of martial training. Those that did know how to wield a weapon were often little more than brute force. Anyone Danarius chose would have to be able to think and react quickly. And not just any fighting skill would do—it needed to be something that would compliment Fenris's abilities.

And then there was the fact that Danarius liked…pretty things. Physical perfection wasn't required, but any candidate had to be pleasing to the eye. There were those Danarius had passed up immediately, simply because of an unsightly scar or other defect. Even the punishments and agonies inflicted on Fenris, whether by Danarius's own hand or Hadriana's, left no marks behind.

And despite all of this, Danarius had still managed to find slaves to test. Nearly a dozen had been purchased in the last two years, four even making it to train with Fenris before Danarius found some flaw and…removed them.

His master resumed his circling, now resembling a predator closing in on his prey, and Fenris allowed his own gaze to focus on the kneeling slave. Even as Danarius looked at her with new eyes, his own were taking her in, cataloging everything in an analytical fashion.

She would be tall when standing, probably near his own height. Her limbs, from what he could see, revealed by the sleeveless tunic and ragged pants, appeared straight and true. If they'd been broken in the past, they'd healed well. Beneath her pale skin, her muscles were long and clean, visible because of the way she tensed against her restraints. No heavy bulk like most human men, or even some women. Her frame wasn't built for raw power, but for speed and dexterity.

Even bound as she was, she knelt up, back straight and shoulders set. Part of that was surely stubbornness and defiance, but it was a stance that would give the best chance should she find herself free. She watched, through strands of dirty, black hair, as Danarius circled her, but she kept her head very still, moving just her eyes to keep him within her peripheral vision.

Fenris took a moment to look at her through Danarius's eyes. Her skin was mostly unblemished, and the handful of scars were small, light—most likely something Danarius or Hadriana could lessen or even remove. Her features were even and symmetrical, and he thought that she might even be considered pretty. Perhaps not beautiful—her face was probably a bit too sharp for true beauty—but if he allowed himself thoughts of that nature, she did seem to be attractive.

Danarius stopped circling to stand before her, lips pursed in thought. "How is her health?"

"From what her previous master said, excellent. She recovers from injury quickly and hasn't been ill in the time he's owned her."

"And how long was that?"

"Just over a year, Magister. He hoped to break her of her ways, but gave up on it as too much trouble. He merely wants to recover whatever he can of his investment. Normally, she'd be bound for the quarries, but I thought to offer you the chance to purchase her first."

"I see," Danarius murmured, and then made a sharp gesture with his hand. The auctioneer quickly reached down and hauled her to her feet with one beefy hand. The woman snarled and tried to wrench herself free, only to be rewarded with a hard cuff to the side of her head for her efforts.

"Carefully," Danarius murmured. "If you damage the goods, I won't be able to offer full price."

"Yes, Magister. My apologies."

Fenris watched as his master carefully inspected every inch of her, first with his eyes, then with his hands. He examined her as one might examine a piece of livestock, feeling and squeezing flesh, moving clothing to see something better and running his hands down her limbs to make sure nothing was hidden. The slave tried to pull back from his touch, but the auction master grabbed a fistful of hair, cruelly pulling her head back so that her struggles were ineffectual. And then Danarius reached out to grasp her chin to get a better look at her.

The woman spit in his face.

This time, the blow from the auctioneer's fist sent her back to her knees. But Danarius merely produced a square of silk from his robes and wiped his face, laughing softly. Fenris's gut clenched instinctively at the sound. Pain and humiliation always followed that laugh, and though he felt a brief stab of pity for the woman, he was grateful that it wasn't directed at him.

"Spirited indeed. Very well, you've made your case. I'll buy her." A nod of his head brought his seneschal scurrying over to produce a pouch of coins. There was a brief, murmured discussion as Danarius haggled over the price. Then, as the servant counted out the auction master's gold, another signal from Danarius brought a handful of guards hurrying over.

"Take her to the cells," he instructed them. "She'll need to begin training, but let's see if we can't blunt the blade a little before we do."

Turning on his heel, he looked at Fenris. "Come, my pet. I have business in the city to attend to."

Fenris fell into step a pace behind and to the right of Danarius, immediately on alert for any possible threats. By the time they passed through the gates, thoughts of the unfortunate woman being dragged below Danarius's palace had already faded.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time he saw her, she was standing on the packed earth of the training yard behind Danarius's mansion.

She had been in the cells for ten days, and looked it. Her hair hung, lank and greasy, down past her shoulders. The ragged clothes she wore were filthy, and her skin was dirty and scraped. But the biggest change was her demeanor. In the courtyard, she had been defiant and proud. Now her shoulders slumped and her head was bowed. Part of that was do to the omnipresent darkness of the cells—Fenris could see her squinting and shielding her eyes with her hand, desperately trying to re-acclimate them in the bright outdoor light.

The other reason was that she was definitely weaker. Danarius wasn't such a fool as to deny her food and drink entirely, but what he did provide would have been meager and barely edible. The point was to break her, not kill her. At least not yet.

"Your name?" Danarius asked—though it was unquestionably a command—when she finally glanced up.

For a moment, it appeared as if she would answer. And then her lips set in a thin line and her jaw tightened. Danarius gave an almost imperceptible sigh and nodded to the man standing behind the woman.

Sergius, head of all the slaves in Danarius's household. It was he who organized the slaves, arranged their training and doled out punishments. He was a hard man with no mercy, and his arm wielded the lash as it suited Danarius. The whip sang in his hand now, arcing through the air to slice across the slave's back.

She gave a brief cry of pain and staggered forward, hands clawing at her back. She twisted, trying to keep her eyes on both Danarius and Sergius.

"Your name," Danarius repeated. There was still defiance in her blood-shot eyes set in dark circles as she swung back to glare at the magister. This time, Sergius did not wait for his master's command. As soon as the woman failed to answer promptly, he lashed her again.

Once more she staggered forward, but was unable to keep herself upright. She fell heavily, drawing shaky, ragged breaths as her fingers dug into the dirt.

"Your name."

That Danarius had to repeat his question yet again was shocking to Fenris. He'd seen stubborn and defiant slaves before, but they usually had better sense about when to be such. This woman…. She seemed determined to make life difficult for herself.

The leather of Sergius's whip creaked as he prepared to draw back and strike again. But before he could, the slave shuddered and dropped her head.

"Seren," she whispered hoarsely.

"Ah, see, now was that so hard?"

Fenris closed his eyes briefly at the false cheerfulness in Danarius's voice. He knew his master too well, and knew that deep inside, the magister was furious. Defiance above all things aroused his ire, and punishment was always swift and harsh following each incident. Every slave in the household knew to avoid their master's wrath at all costs.

"And you family name?" Danarius asked.

"You don't need that," Seren replied, defiantly meeting the magister's eyes.

The whip snapped against her back almost before she finished speaking, harder than the other blows, the end curling over her shoulder to tear a hole in her tunic. This time she cried out, spinning around to face Sergius.

"Whether or not I need it is for me to decide. And what matters is that I _want_ it. If I have to ask again, I'll just turn you over to Sergius's tender ministrations for the rest of the day and we can try again tomorrow." The man's feral smile made her shudder and swallow hard.

"Hawke."

Danarius's quick intake of breath revealed his surprise, as the faint lift of his brows. "Hawke? Truly?" The slave nodded. "Oh my," he laughed quietly. "What a _delightful_ coincidence. I must be fortunate indeed to have been sent a little hawk to hunt with my little wolf.

"Now, to see what my hawk is capable of."

The master clapped his hands sharply, and a waiting guard tossed something at Hawke's feet. She frowned in confusion at the wooden practice daggers, the expression turning leery when the guard followed them, stepping out to stand in front of her, his own practice sword in his hands.

"I suggest you pick them up," Danarius called, amusement still evident in his voice. "Fighting him without weapons will probably be quite painful."

As the guard moved toward her, she scrabbled at the weapons on the ground, bring them up in a hasty defense. The guard took that as his sign to begin, and he stepped forward to attack. Fenris frowned as he watched the match. Hawke's form was shaky, and she kept a defensive position, lashing out only a handful of times when the man left himself completely open. Her defense also had holes, allowing the guard to score several direct hits that staggered her and would leave nasty bruises.

But how much of that was due to her own skills—or lack thereof—and how much was due to the last few weeks? Perhaps even the last year. She wouldn't have been allowed to handle weapons, and that long without training would have a definite impact on her abilities. He couldn't tell from what he was seeing here.

Still…there was potential there. Though her body couldn't keep up, Fenris could see Hawke's mind working as she fought, seeking the clues in the guard's form that would alert her to how the next attack would come. If she could regain her strength, if she could recoup her lost skills and improve, she had a chance.

Danarius called the end of the fight with another set of claps, and the guard immediately stepped back. Hawke continued to hold the practice daggers, hands tightening upon the hilts. At the sound of Sergius's whip creaking behind her, though, she quickly let them fall onto the dirt.

"Not a complete waste," Danarius murmured. Turning his head in Fenris's direction, he raised his voice slightly. "Get her cleaned up. She'll need training, even I can see that, and she's not worth putting with you at the moment. You'll have to arrange it with the guards. Although," he snorted derisively, "weak thing that she is, she'll probably need a few days to recover from this. Give her three."

Fenris bit back the impulse to ask whether Danarius thought he would do so much better himself. He rather enjoyed a pain-free existence, so the words remained unspoken on his tongue. "Where would you like her put?"

"Hmmm. Put her in one of the upper cells, one that can be locked." He suddenly laughed again, and Fenris gritted his teeth slightly at the mocking sound. "Actually, if there's one with a window, let her have it. Let's give my hawk a taste of what she's leaving behind."

"Yes, Master." Fenris bowed low, waiting until the magister had swept away before straightening and turning to Hawke. "Follow me," he said, and walked toward the palace, not bothering to wait for her. If she was stupid enough not to come along, then she deserved what she got.

The sound of footsteps behind him as he stepped inside and headed down the stairs to the lower level told him that she had indeed followed. Stopping only to request a few things of a passing slave—who practically ran as soon as he finished speaking—Fenris led Hawke into the bathing room the slaves used.

The room was large, the walls and floor made of smooth, worn stones. Against one wall was a tub like structure filled with water. Cunningly wrought pipes ensured a constant level of water, and because they passed through the kitchens, the water was even warmed to a certain extent. Slaves would take what they needed from the large tub, and then wash themselves or their clothes on the stone benches built into the floor throughout the room. Stone grates set into the floor would catch the run off. It was ingenious and Fenris was quite sure that if Danarius had a way to deprive his slaves of even that small luxury, he would.

The slave he had sent to fetch items scurried in, placed them at his feet, and then hastened back out of the room. Fenris gave them a cursory glance to ensure that everything was there, and then turned to Hawke. "Remove your clothes."

"Excuse me?"

Knowing very well that she had heard him, Fenris fixed her with an impassive stare. "Take off your clothes."

"No."

It was clear that Hawke tested each person whose control she fell under, and Fenris was in no mood to play her games. She would learn her place, and Fenris did not intend to make the lesson long. As he padded toward her on silent feet, he pondered his options. Phasing his hand into her chest or throat would be the fastest way to get her obedience, but in her current state it seemed unwarranted. Besides, he had the feeling she would need reminders and that might be a lesson best left to another time.

Hawke's eyes narrowed as he came closer, her hands balling into fists at her sides, and shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet.

"Strip," he ordered curtly, deliberately choosing the words to provoke her, "or I will do it for you."

Her response this time was a punch aimed at his jaw. Even though he controlled himself, keeping the lyrium in his flesh from activating, he caught her arm easily and dodged to the side. Allowing her motion to follow through, he tugged enough to send her off balance. A quick sweep of his leg caused her to lose her balance completely. As she fell, he twisted the arm in his grasp up behind her back and followed her down.

Hawke hit the floor with a whoosh of breath, followed by a harsh cry as his knees came down, one in the middle of her lower back and the other on her free hand. He settled his weight carefully—he still wore his armor and he didn't want to cripple her—and then pinned her right hand between her shoulder blades.

Fenris let her struggle for a few minutes, and then pulled on her twisted arm, just enough to get her to be still. Her harsh, ragged panting filled the room as she fought with herself, her struggles growing quieter as she realized she couldn't dislodge him from her position.

"Like this, I could easily dislocate your shoulder or crush your hand," he said calmly. "Do not make me. I'm going to release you, and when I do, you are going to remove your clothes. They're filthy. Then you will bathe and redress yourself. Once you're done, then you may eat. Do you understand me?"

The mention of food made her go very still, and Fenris knew only too well the cramping hunger of several days without adequate food. When he finished, she nodded. "Yes. Yes, please, I understand."

With a final warning flexing of where he held her, Fenris pushed himself off, leaving Hawke to get back onto her feet stiffly. He went over to the pile of things that had been brought and retrieved the small bucket, soap and washcloth. Wanting to get this done as quickly as possible, he filled the bucket for her and moved to put it beside a bench, along with the soap and cloth. When he turned back, Hawke stood watching him, fingers twisting in the hem of her tunic. Her eyes met Fenris's, and he watched almost in disbelief as spots of color rose in her cheeks.

Finally, she broke off her gaze and looked down at the floor. Taking a deep breath, Hawke swiftly lifted the tunic over her head and shucked her trousers off. Fenris's previous assessment of her proved correct. There was no marring of the straight lines of her limbs and muscles.

But he frowned, brows pulling together as he watched her wash. The bruises from her sparring session were still red, yet to darken. But he could see older, yellowish discolorations where previous marks had not yet faded. And there were some darker spots that indicated bone bruises. Those might need actual healing if she was to train properly. He would have to check on them, perhaps in a week.

What Fenris hadn't realized was just _how_ thin she was. The shadowed lines of her ribs were easily visible, and her hipbones and collarbones made sharp points beneath her pale skin. This…was going to be a problem. If Hawke didn't gain more weight, she'd never be able to put on the muscle mass she was going to need, or build up the endurance for the long hours of training. Somehow, he was going to have to figure out how to get her extra food as well as keep Hadriana from denying her meals.

He cursed under his breath in Arcanum. Of all the ones Danarius had turned over to him, she was already the most trouble by far. And if she failed, then that meant he had failed and would taste the punishment for that failure.

"Hurry up!" he snapped.

Hawke looked up from where she was trying to undo the snarls and mats in her hair, having already finished washing her body. "I'm trying," she growled irritably.

"Then I suggest you try harder, and more quickly. If you can't, I'll just cut it off."

Her eyes widened, and she clutched briefly at the black locks. Bizarrely, she looked more frightened at that threat than she had when being whipped by Sergius or threatened by Danarius. She opened her mouth to respond, and then snapped it shut and redoubled her efforts on her hair, yanking her fingers through it and hissing as she ripped strands free in her haste.

By the time she was done—and Fenris privately admitted she had finished fairly quickly after his threat—she was dry enough to get dressed. He tossed a dun color shirt and pair of trousers at her, and she slipped into them. Satisfied that she was marginally presentable, he led Hawke out, leaving her bathing supplies and old clothes for another slave to attend to.

In the kitchens, someone had been told to expect them because the cook, Mera, had a plate of food waiting for Hawke. Not bothering to wait to be told, she tore into the food, eating so quickly Fenris wasn't sure if she bothered chewing. As he waited, Mera slipped another plate onto the table in front of him. Fenris looked at the old elven cook in surprise, but she just nodded at the plate silently. Of all the slaves in the household, Mera was probably the least afraid of him, being the one who most often saw Hadriana's treatment of him when he ate.

Briefly, he considered not eating it, not wanting to show weakness of any sort. But any kindness was all too rare and he would be foolish to reject it here when there was almost no one else to see it. And who knew when it would come again? So he ate quietly, standing, consuming the meats and cheeses first to get the most benefit in case he couldn't finish it all.

When Hawke had cleaned her plate—almost literally, for if Fenris hadn't seen the food on it before, he wouldn't have known it ever held any—Mera slid a loaf warm from the oven in front of her. Hawke sighed happily, ripped the loaf in half, and sank her teeth into the bread with an appreciative groan. "Thank you," Hawke mumbled around the mouthful of chewy bread, and Mera nodded. Taking another bite, Hawke turned and offered him the other half.

Shaking his head at the silent offer, Fenris replied, "Keep it. Mera will give you something to wrap it in."

Hawke shrugged, the gesture carrying a "your loss" feel and finished off her half while Mera wrapped the extra in a threadbare rag. Once Hawke was finally done, covering her mouth to hide a quiet burp, Fenris led her back out towards the upper cells, stopping only to retrieve a key from the guard who manned this level.

"Upper cells" was a bit of a misnomer. They were only called that because they were the uppermost level of the basements. They were still underground for the most part, only rising a foot or two above ground level. This meant that some of the outer rooms had small grates, allowing a somewhat restricted view of the outside. It was to one of these cells that Fenris took Hawke.

The room was tiny, holding nothing more than a rough pallet on the ground, a thin blanket and a bucket to relieve herself in. She stepped into the cell cautiously, her eyes widening as they were immediately drawn to the small, grated window. This close, Fenris could see her face clearly—the longing in her face, the shimmer in the oddly bright blue eyes—and realized how accurate and how cruel Danarius's order was.

Fenris stepped back through the doorway. "I'll be back for you in the morning."

She watched him, eyes still wide, as he closed the cell door, locking it behind him. She kept watching him as he stood a moment longer looking at her through the bars, her hand flexing around the leftover bread. Then he turned, walking back along the hallway to leave the key with his guard before seeking out his own tiny room.


	3. Chapter 3

For several long minutes, Seren stared through the cell door and into the hallway the elf had disappeared down. She wasn't sad to see him go, but she was troubled. Her hand, wrist, back and knees still throbbed from his manhandling in the bath chamber, and the whips marks burned fiercely. But that pain was endurable, and wasn't the cause of her current consternation.

The elf was strange, perhaps the oddest elf she'd ever encountered. It had nothing to do with the greatsword strapped to his back—the armed elves she'd known had always favored lighter weapons or bows. But, unusual as that was, it wasn't what made her hesitate.

To begin with, there was his appearance. The shock of white hair was starling in and of itself. Such an odd color, and unnatural given how the coal black brows framed his expressionless green eyes. Once she got past his face, his markings immediately grabbed her attention. It was impossible to ignore them. They were so striking, so vivid, there was no way _not_ to notice them.

At first, she'd thought them some form of strange tattoos. They were aesthetically pleasing, curling and winding across his hands, arms, neck, face and feet. She suspected that they also extended across his torso and down his legs, though there was no way to be sure. But there was something off about the marking—for one, the color. She'd never seen white tattoos before, and while she conceded it probably wasn't impossible for them to exist, something didn't sit quite right. Black or dark brown and blue inks were far more common, easier to obtain, and would stand out almost as well against his skin.

But in the baths, she'd been able to get a closer look. The markings weren't just white. They were bordered by a darker color outlining them, darkening to almost black where the lines were the thickest. And something just looked…_wrong_ about them. There was an odd flatness to them, as if something had been done to the skin itself. It reminded her almost of a burn or brand, but his flesh didn't look damaged. Just…altered.

Seren shook her head to clear it and gather her thoughts. As strange and curious as the elf's physical appearance was, that wasn't what truly concerned her.

The baths. She shuddered slightly. As injured, tired and weak as she was, it was no surprise that he'd been able to subdue her. What was surprising, even shocking, was how easily he did it. He'd been fast, unnaturally so, and he was far stronger than his frame suggested, even if he was bigger and more heavily muscled than most elves.

She kept going over the memory of how he avoided her blow, how quickly he'd grabbed her and dropped her to the floor. She'd been able to follow his movements, but just barely. She certainly wasn't quick enough to actually do something about it, and if she wanted to escape, that was going to be a problem.

With her free hand, Seren pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes and sighed. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to relax. There was no time to indulge in a little personal misery over her recent treatment. First things first, she needed to go over everything that she knew, and only then could she begin to plan a way to escape.

Looking around the tiny cell, she frowned, and then set the half loaf of bread on the pallet with a shrug. There was no telling what might be infesting the thin blankets, but the bread was wrapped, which would keep it clean enough. And besides, she'd likely be sleeping on the pallet, so it seemed rather silly to worry about a stray bug crawling over her food.

With that done, the cell was her next area of focus. It was tiny, probably no more than six feet by six feet, smaller even than the pantry had been in their house in Lothering. Seren was glad she wasn't very much taller, or she wouldn't even be able to stretch out completely when she laid down. The walls and floors were made of the ubiquitous tan sandstone blocks she'd seen throughout her time in Minrathous. They were fitted together with either a layer of mortar too thin to be seen, or with none at all, which meant she wouldn't be able to pry one out in an attempt to tunnel or hide anything she might find useful.

The door to the cell was really a standard cell door, if a bit smaller. Pitted iron bars and a large lock. She crouched down, and felt the front of the lock with her fingers. If only she had her lock picking tools…. Well, it was a plan that could be worked out later. The lock didn't seem especially complicated, and if she could manage to find some thin lengths of wire, she might be able to pick it.

The last thing of interest in the cell was the narrow window set in the outside wall, barred with the same bars the door was made of. There was a narrow ledge just high enough that she could see out without having to stand on her tiptoes. The window looked out into the back of the estate, and if she moved all the way over to one side, she could just see the yard where she'd been tested, if that was the word for it. Otherwise, she had a relatively clear view of the goings on and some of the walls. Seren gave a few pulls on the bars. They were stuck fast, no give at all. Again, there didn't appear to be any mortar securing them, and she wondered if the metal had been set into the stone with magic. Whatever the reason, there would be no way to pry them out. No, it looked like her best bet was going to be either picking the lock or making a break for it when she was let out of her cell.

Sighing again, Seren folded her arms on the narrow window ledge and rested her head on them. Allowing her eyes to unfocus as she looked out, she went over what she knew.

Her new owner was named Danarius, and he seemed even fonder of the whip than her previous master. Quicker to use it, too. And as bad as the pain was, that wasn't what worried her. There was something about him, that even in the short time she'd been exposed to him, made her skin crawl. It might have been his voice, the undercurrent of amusement that colored his words when he spoke.

And what she'd overheard, both from today and when she was first brought to his mansion, told her that Danarius had plans for her. Well, might have plans if she _proved_ herself. What those plans might be, she was unsure. It at least involved training her with weapons, so at the moment she was content to let events take their course. Any strength and skill she could build would only help her escape and stay free. And that brought her right back to her original problem.

The elf.

It seemed like Danarius had turned over responsibility of her to the elf, so she was going to have to concentrate on him for now. She already knew he was a dangerous opponent without weapons, and if he was always armed and armored, she was going to have to avoid engaging him. Seren wondered if he would be susceptible to seduction. He _was_ attractive, and it would undoubtedly be a far more pleasant way to lull him into a false sense of security than any other she could think of. But given his demeanor thus far that seemed unlikely.

All right. So far she's established herself as a fairly disobedient slave, even if she wasn't really strong enough to back that up with outright defiance. A sudden change to complicit behavior would only make him suspicious, and an outright defiant one wouldn't benefit her at all. For now, she'd have to watch and wait for an opportunity. Then, once she was free, she could worry about finding her family and getting out of Tevinter.

* * *

><p>The next three days passed slowly for Seren, but it was a marked improvement from the previous week and a half. Each morning, there was a bowl of porridge waiting for her, and lunch and supper of slightly heartier stews, each accompanied by a rough chunk of bread to use instead of a spoon. Not particularly flavorful, but it was edible and filling, and far better than anything she'd gotten in months. Seren was not ashamed to lick the bowls clean. Water—<em>clean, clear water<em>—was also provided with meals and at random intervals during the day by a bored looking guard.

And if she wasn't let out of her cell, well, a slave came by every day—accompanied by guards, of course—to take the bucket she relieved herself in and replace it with a clean one. And at least in this cell she had sunlight and fresh air. It was dry, relatively clean, and the pallet—surprisingly vermin free—had been a welcome break from sleeping on stone floors. No one came to her or spoke to her, so she filled her empty hours by stretching sore muscles so she would remain limber, practicing the meditation exercises her father had taught them all long ago, and watching life in the estate through her tiny window.

The daily training by the guards was by far the most interesting thing available to watch, so Seren spent many hours watching and learning. Not so much specific techniques, but more how each guard fought. There was a good chance she might have to fight at least some of these men and women during an escape attempt, so anything she could pick up now would be useful.

It was relatively easy to tell which if the guards were the most skilled. It was also easy to tell what they were like. There were certain ones who most of the guards avoided, who the others were careful to watch themselves around. Seren marked them carefully. These would be the guards she should definitely try to avoid.

As she watched, a curious thing caught her attention. She'd seen the elf sparring each day, but only with the most skilled of the guards, and those he seemed to have no trouble holding his own against. A fighter herself, she had to admire the fluid grace with which he moved, the economy of his movements that never left him off balance, over-reached or exhausted. The same speed and strength he'd shown against her was evident here, even as he swung a sword almost as tall as him as easily as she swung her daggers.

And though there was no outright hostility while he and the guards trained, he clearly wasn't part of the guard. Soldiers the world over tended to act like a pack of mabari. There were those who would lead and those who would follow, but they all stuck together, members of a large extended family. They might have their own internal power struggles and squabbles, but they always presented a united front.

The elf was not part of that group. It was evident in the cool interactions with the guards he sparred with, and the outright fear of the others. If he wasn't a guard, then what was he? From what she had seen—and granted, she hadn't been able to see all that much—the guards were the only non-slaves Danarius employed. Was he a slave then? But why would a slave be given such weapons? And why, Maker above, if he was a slave, did Danarius still draw breath? She couldn't see any slave with his abilities being allowed to live as he did. It made no sense. If it were her, she'd gut the magister and be out the gates before anyone could stop her.

Seren worried her lip for several moments, and then dismissed the questions with a slight shake of her head. She would have time to find out more.

* * *

><p>On the fourth morning, perhaps an hour after she'd eaten her breakfast and finished her stretching, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallways. Seren turned from the window and stepped over the pallet and settled her feet on stone floor. If something were to happen, she wouldn't risk being unbalanced or tripped up by the blankets.<p>

A guard stepped in front of her door, and a pace behind him was the elf, who stood, waiting silently, as the guard unlocked the door and walked back down the hallway. Seren's brow furrowed as she looked at the elf suspiciously. Silence surrounded them, but he neither moved nor said anything. Finally, Seren stepped carefully out of the cell, well aware that he watched her every move. When she was clear of the door, he shut it quietly, and then gesturing for her to proceed down the hallway, fell into step beside her.

Their first stop was the baths, and Seren saw that a bucket of water, soap, rags and a change of clothes had already been set aside. The thought that baths might actually be a regular occurrence now had her shedding her dirty clothes as she walked over to the bathing supplies, too delighted by the prospect to even be slightly embarrassed.

She washed quickly, aware that her ablutions were probably supposed to be quick and efficient, and she had no desire to see if testing that meant she would lose the privilege. In the back of her mind, she wondered if it was something to help keep her complacent. If so, these Tevinters had a lot to learn about Seren Hawke.

This time the pile of clothes held a pair of loose linen smallclothes. Seren slipped them on, drawing the laces so that the garment was snug. The shirt and pants were also of the same material, but while the shirt fit correctly, the pants did not. They hung low on her hips, and she laughed softly as she pulled the drawstring. To think, she had once worried about her waist and hips. A little starvation took the weight right off! She'd probably be the envy of all the girls in Lothering if she were back there now.

And if everyone wasn't most likely dead.

Her laughter trailed into a resigned sigh. She caught the slightly raised eyebrow from her elven watcher, and shook her head. From his perspective, her actions were probably a bit odd. "It's nothing," she said quietly. "Just…thinking."

He didn't bother to reply, just nodded his head at her clothes on the floor. Seren hastily scooped them up and dropped them onto the wet pile of rags. Dusting her hands off, she looked back at him and asked brightly, "So, where to now?"

Again, he didn't bother to reply, simply stepped back into the hallway and waited for her to join him before again coming to walk at her side.

_Smart_, she thought as they headed up the stairs and back into the training yards she'd left several days earlier. _He always keeps me in front of him or to the side, never behind him where I could attack._

Today, they didn't stop at the training yard, instead skirting it to head to a small building nearby. The elf held the door as she entered—a precaution to prevent her from slamming it into him, no doubt—and Seren found herself in a well kept armory. The sight of all those weapons and all that armor, even locked away as they were, had her practically salivating.

"Do not even think it." The elf's quiet words behind her startled her slightly and she spun back to face him.

"A little late for not thinking about it," Seren shot back, and was gratified to see his lips thin slightly.

"Then do not act upon whatever foolish thoughts you may have had. Here," he gestured, "put these on."

Seren's eyes followed the line of his arm to see a set of worn and battered leather armor laid out on a bench. She fingered the armor and looked back at the elf, raising one brow. "You're giving me armor?"

"You're going to train. Some protection is required to prevent further damage. Now dress."

Biting back the instinctual retort that he couldn't order her around—because of course he could—Seren snatched up the armor angrily and pulled it on. She wondered momentarily if she should ask for something to bind her breasts with, but the buckles and straps on the armor allowed her to pull it tight enough that it shouldn't be a problem. Never very chesty to begin with, she was even smaller now. Something she _wouldn't_ be the envy of back home.

That task done, the elf led her back outside and to the training grounds where a handful of guards waited. He gestured to one, a smaller man who bore twin practice daggers. "For now, you will train with Marcus. His style is similar to your own and will suffice until I think you have enough strength and skill to proceed further." The guard, unlike the one she had been tested against, simply looked her over and nodded, no trace of cruelty on his features.

The elf took another pair of practice daggers from one of the guards, handed them to her, and then stepped back. The other guards followed suit, and Seren realized they were there to make sure she didn't attempt an escape. A small grin tugged up one corner of her mouth as she tested the weight of the daggers and settled into a stance. Let them be vigilant now. In time, someone would make a mistake and she would be there to take advantage of it.

* * *

><p>Throughout the day, the guards traded off, so that she was always watched by at least three or four of them. Some stood quietly, while others called out insults and crude comments. As if "whore" was suddenly a new and inventive insult. Did they truly think speculating on the farm animals her mother had taken to bed would get a rise out of her?<p>

The comments about her abilities cut a little deeper. She knew she wasn't this bad and this clumsy, that with time she could best any of them. But each slip, each missed thrust and parry made her cheeks flush with more than just the heat of the day. She burned with the desire to challenge them and teach them a lesson, and knew even as she thought it that it would end in disaster.

_Patience, Seri_, her father's old advice cautioned with her. _Your time will come. Watch and wait. When they make a mistake, you'll be there to take advantage._

So she didn't respond, focusing on Marcus or the training dummies when he took breaks, but it was somehow comforting and reassuring to be surrounded by soldiers. It was something familiar, something normal that she could cling to. She ate when they did, though by herself, and got water breaks when they did.

The elf, too, came and went throughout the day, saying nothing, just watching with an unreadable expression. It was he who finally called a halt at the end of the day, taking her weapons, dismissing the guards and leading her back inside.

Seren was exhausted. She realized wryly that the gates could be flung open, every guard incapacitated, and she might not even have the energy to get herself across the threshold. The elf did not lead her back to the armory, but instead took her back inside much as he did the first day. Going down the stairs, she stumbled, and it was only his hand grabbing the neck of her armor that kept her from tumbling down the stone steps.

Choking slightly at the pressure from her armor, she flung a hand out to grab at the gritty wall. The elf held her until she steadied herself and then released her just as abruptly as he'd grabbed her. "Thank you," she muttered, and got a small, non-committal sound in response.

As with the first day, he took her to the baths, and she sank down gratefully onto one of the benches. After taking a few moments to rest, she began fumbling with the buckles of the armor, her fingers slow and clumsy. The elf watched silently as she finally managed them all and began dragging the pieces off. Seren was surprised when he was suddenly next to her—and how _did_ he manage to move that silently, anyway?—and took the armor from her, laying it carefully on another bench.

She washed slowly, too damned tired to care if it inconvenienced him. But still he said nothing, waiting with apparent patience while she pulled on a clean set of clothes. When they got back to her cell, a larger bowl of stew and hunk of bread was waiting for her, and the sight was so welcome that she couldn't even be bothered to care that she was being locked in again.

By the time she was done, she barely had enough energy to set to bowl by the door and collapse on the pallet. Sleep took her almost as soon as she set her head down.

* * *

><p>That pattern continued for the next several days. Seren could feel her body beginning to adjust to the training, the aches and weariness slowly growing less debilitating. But she was still exhausted every night. It made it hard to think, hard to plan, and the idea of escape right now was laughable. That was almost certainly the point, and she tired to repress the surge of anger it caused. She would have her opportunity. She just needed to be patient.<p>

One evening, after her bath, she reached for her clothes only to find they weren't in their customary spot. She looked up to ask the elf, but he was already walking toward her to stand in front of her. Her brow furrowed in confusion as he dropped to one knee before her, and then grasped her right ankle with a gauntleted hand, and pulled her leg out.

A hot flush rose in her cheeks as she was suddenly aware of how very _naked_ she was and how _close_ he was. She'd considered a seduction yes, but it had to be a seduction. If he could just take what he wanted from her, it would leave her with no leverage.

She considered trying to kick him with her left leg, but then his other hand closed around her calf and he twisted the limb gently, examining it. She paused, waiting to see what he would do. Very deliberately, he pressed down on one of the bruises on her shin with his thumb.

The sharp cry of pain burst out before she could stop it, and she tried to jerk her leg out of his hold. He merely tightened his hand, using that unusual strength of his, the sharp tips of his gauntlet digging into her flesh.

"That hurt?" he asked.

"Yes, of course that hurt, you ass!" she hissed. "What did you think that would feel like? Rainbows and sunshine? Why did you do that?" she asked angrily, still trying to pull her leg free. "You don't see me poking at your injuries, do you?"

The elf ignored her tirade, and reached up to press against a bruise that still shadowed the left side of her ribs. This time she was prepared for it, so she only sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. "What is _wrong_ with you?" she cried.

He offered no response, merely rising to his feet in one smooth motion and taking her clothes off another bench to hand to her. She jerked them on, anger and wounded pride making her motions harsh and violent. All the way back to her cell, she shot murderous looks at him, her anger only increasing when he seemed utterly unperturbed by it.

Seren ate her meal quickly, and then flung the empty bowl at the bars. She should sleep, she knew that, but she sat on her pallet fuming instead. What was wrong with him?

When he reappeared in front of her cell a while later, she glared silently at him. He held something out. "Here."

Rising cautiously to her feet, she stepped closer to the door to see what it was. He wouldn't put his own arm through the bars—too much danger if she decided to try and slam him face first into the bars—so she had to reach out to take it from him.

As soon as she drew it back into the brighter light of her cell, she knew what the small vial of red liquid was. A health potion. She looked up, stunned, her mouth falling open in surprise.

"Drink it," he said quietly.

Pride be damned. Tearing the wax seal off, she ripped the cork out and drank the entire vial's contents in three large swallows. She swayed slightly, grabbing at the bars as the warmth flooded through her, concentrating on the places she was still injured. It wasn't until it was all gone that she realized just how pain she had been in.

The lack of the sound of breaking glass made her realize that the elf had caught the vial when she dropped it, before it could smash on the stone floors. She opened her eyes to look into the elf's solemn green ones, less then a foot in front of her. He was close, too close. She could reach through and pull him into the bars if she wasn't so disoriented from the healing. Unless he knew that and that's why he risked being so close.

"What's your name?" she asked abruptly.

His eyes widened slightly, as if in surprise, the first actual emotion she had seen on his face, and for a long minute he didn't answer.

"Fenris," he finally answered, slowly.

Seren nodded. "Thank you, Fenris."

"You are…welcome," he replied quietly, a great deal of hesitation in his voice, and Seren was suddenly too tired from the sudden rush of healing to wonder why basic, normal interaction seemed so foreign to him.

She stumbled back to her pallet and lay back, stretching out blissfully and pillowing her head on her arm, aware that Fenris still stood at the door to her cell, head tilted slightly as he looked at her curiously. The sound of the elf walking back down the hallway pulled her awake long enough to be truly thankful for the unexpected mercy, and wondered if maybe there was hope to be found in these walls.


	4. Chapter 4

She woke to the sounds of birds.

For a brief, befuddled moment, Seren had no idea where she was. Then she opened her eyes, saw the tan sandstone ceiling above her and felt the hard, lumpy pallet beneath her, and everything came rushing back. Closing her eyes with a sigh, she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Sitting up, she blinked the last of her sleep from her eyes and stretched.

The movement caused no pain, and eager to explore just how much healing the potion had done last night, she got up to try a more extensive series of stretches. She moved easily in the pre-dawn light—it was the earliest she'd awoken, another testament to how much better she was feeling—and reveled the smooth slide and pull of muscles without the familiar ache and soreness. Popping sounds rippled from her spine and arms as she locked her knees and bent to touch her fingertips to the gritty floor, but they felt good, a release of sorts.

Sitting back down, Seren began to work on another series of stretches she'd learned long ago. For too long, her captivity and injuries had kept her from being able to move as she needed to. Her flexibility and range of movement had been affected greatly, and while she was probably still more capable than most, she knew how far from her peak she'd fallen. Now that she was healed, she needed to get back into form as quickly and as completely as possible, both to ensure her continued survival and the make sure that if the opportunity to escape came, she'd be able to take it. She would also have to push herself harder during training. It might exhaust her in the short term, but she also needed to regain the endurance and stamina she'd lost.

Seren frowned as another thought occurred to her. She was also going to need to push. From the limited amount she'd seen so far, it was fairly certain that Danarius was a harsh master who punished disobedience accordingly. And while she didn't relish the thought of a whipping or other punishment, or the loss of filling food and what little luxuries she had, she needed to know how he would react. And she had to be careful about what situation she picked. It was important to give the impression that she wouldn't just roll over, but it was also important to pick the manner of her rebellion.

These thoughts continued to turn over in her mind as the sun rose and as a guard brought her breakfast. They stayed with her while Fenris, her strange, nearly silent keeper came from her—and she was pleased to have a name to finally have a name to put to him. And they lingered in the back of her mind even as she resumed her training.

Her opportunity came two weeks later.

* * *

><p>After he'd seen that the healing potion had done its work, Fenris altered her training regime slightly. Instead of just facing off against Marcus or the dummies, he'd begun to rotate in a handful of other guards. Some of them were selected, like Marcus, to improve her skills against while the others were more suited to trying to improve her defense. While Seren was regaining her skills with her daggers, her actual experiences in combat were limited, and she had little practice in going up against skilled fighters with shields or greatswords. The men selected by Fenris seemed determined to get her caught up as quickly as possible. At the end of each day, Seren was left sore, but it was no more than she could handle, nor did it linger into the next day beyond a more pleasant ache of muscles worked thoroughly rather than from injury.<p>

It was during one such training session that the topic of Ferelden and the Blight came up.

Seren was working with a guard who was showing her the best way to catch an attack on her blades and slide a sword away. It was intricate work, turning a blade so that not only did she avoid the attack, but also allowed her to counter and leave her opponent off balance, and her in a position to follow with her own attack. She was improving in doing such against a simple longsword, but it was far harder against bigger blades and all but impossible against a shield, the repeated hits from which often left her arms numb.

While she and the guard were taking a break to catch their breath in the shade and drink water, the conversation from the other guards could be heard, and the mention of her homeland caught her ear. Perking up, she turned to look at them. "What did you say about Ferelden?"

The guards looked at each other for a moment before one shrugged. "The Blight's over in Ferelden."

Seren gasped, her heart beating a bit more quickly at the thought of her home being safe again. "How?" she demanded. Ostagar would probably always be vivid in her mind, the sick, horrifying realization that they weren't going to win the battle and the mad flight back home, she and Carver racing to get to their family before the darkspawn did.

The guard shrugged. "Don't know. We just heard that it ended a few months ago in Denerim, and Ferelden has a new king and queen. Rumors say they're Grey Wardens, but that seems unlikely."

Breathing out a sigh of relief, not even sure why she was so relieved, Seren thought a brief prayer of thanks, glad that returning home would be an option once she'd found her family.

Another guard laughed coarsely. "Least the barbarians managed to do something right."

Frowning, Seren looked the man over, irritated by the comment even as she realized that it provided the opportunity she'd been waiting for.

"Oh?" she asked casually. "And what exactly does that mean?"

He laughed again. "It means exactly what I said. Your pathetic backwater of a country isn't good for much."

"Oh, really?" Seren got to her feet, dusting her hands off and walking over to the group. The other guards, sensing in the way all fighting men did that a confrontation was coming, backed off a couple steps to watch from a safer distance.

"My 'pathetic backwater of a country' managed to end the Blight in little more than a year. How long did it take your precious Imperium to end their Blights? Two _centuries_? Three?"

The guard's face darkened in anger. Seren knew that he probably wasn't very patriotic, and neither was she. As much as she loved her home, insulting it was unlikely to ever get her truly angry. Instead, the comments were being used to bait each other, to give them an excuse to fight and to get them into the spirit of it.

"Tell me," he sneered, "is it true Fereldan women are so ugly that their men would rather take a dog to bed?"

"I don't know," Seren returned mildly. "But I know I'd rather have a mabari between my thighs than you."

"Bitch!" he hissed.

"_Fereldan_ bitch," she snapped back. "You forgot the most important part."

He took a step toward her. "I can think of a much better use for that filthy mouth of yours."

"You can think? I'd never noticed."

"You forget your place, _slave_. You need to be reminded of just how low you rank in the greatest empire in Thedas." They were circling now, sizing each other up, looking for weaknesses. Seren already knew she probably wouldn't win, if the fight was even allowed to play out to its conclusion. But she'd get a few good hits in, and she needed this outlet for her aggression and anger in a way she wouldn't be able to explain.

"A dying empire," she drawled. "One rotting from the inside out. And let's not forget that a barbarian slave was the one to break your glorious empire in the first place. I grew up playing on the ruins your empire left behind as we crushed it.

"You've left off the end to that story, or do they not teach you that? We killed your precious Andraste."

"Only because she was betrayed. Tell me, can you do anything on your own? It's a wonder you can find your own cock without help."

She paused and then grinned. "Of course, that's assuming there's actually anything _to_ find."

The last insult was the catalyst, and suddenly the man was charging her. Seren managed to duck under the first heavy swing, turning and throwing her own punch, catching the guard on the chin. The blow didn't have the power she wanted behind it, but it was better than nothing. He staggered for a moment, and she planted a kick in his midsection, causing him to stumble back a few steps. She moved in to strike again, but he dropped suddenly, swinging his leg around to sweep her legs out from under her.

Ignoring the cheers and calls, she went boneless as she fell, landing and rolling quickly to the side to regain her feet. She wasn't quite quick enough to avoid a glancing kick to her ribs, but she managed to get back up before he could do more. The move proved costly, however. The guard closed the distance, and grappling together, she couldn't use her agility to its best advantage. She managed a few more good hits—his cheek, the inside of his thigh, his knee—but his superior strength and height soon had her at a disadvantage.

Another series of moves, and Seren ended up on her back in the dirt, pinned by the guard, one of his large hands wrapped around her neck. She twisted and flailed beneath him, struggling to get out, but she couldn't get the leverage she needed. He grinned down at her viciously. "I'll make you eat those words about preferring a dog," he sneered, and tightened his hold around her neck.

As her vision was beginning to dim, she heard one of the other guards whisper frantically, "Pollio! Pollio, get _up_! _He's_ coming!"

The words barely had time to register, and there was no time at all to wonder who "he" was, when the guard—Pollio, she now knew—was flung off of her. Gasping and coughing as she drew ragged breaths, she rolled quickly to her knees, unwilling to stay in a vulnerable position, and looked up at her rescuer.

Fenris stood there, not quite over her, but definitely close enough to discourage anyone from approaching, looking coldly at Pollio as he picked himself up. He dusted the dirt off his hands angrily.

"You are relieved of your duties for the rest of the day," Fenris said tightly.

"You can't order me around. In case you've forgotten, except for you and the bitch, we're all free men."

"Free though you may be," Fenris replied evenly, "you are a fool if you think Danarius values you more than me, or if you think he would be angered if I killed you." He nodded at two of the other guards. "Take him to the barracks and see that he stays there until tomorrow."

They nodded, and hustled the protesting Pollio away.

Well, that answered the question of whether or not Fenris was a slave. She breathed a sigh of relief as Fenris dismissed the rest of the guards with a gesture. She was about to thank him when he spun to face her, glaring down at her with his lips set in a thin line and his nostrils flaring. Uneasiness settled in Seren's gut at the look and before she could do anything else, he gripped her upper arm in a brutal grip and hauled her to her feet.

She grimaced at the hold and tried to pull away, but he just tightened his grip, hard enough that she knew it would leave a bruise, and dragged her across the yard. Even knowing she couldn't break his grip, she still resisted, digging in her heels. The fight had gotten her blood thrumming though her veins and she wouldn't just roll over now. Fenris snarled and tightened his grip even harder, if that were possible, driving the tips of his gauntlets _through_ the leather armor she wore and drawing blood beneath.

Into the estate she went and down the steps that led to the cells. But when they got to the bottom, he stopped and slammed her back against the wall, her head cracking against the stone. Seren gritted her teeth against the yelp of pain and glared at him.

"You provoked that," he snapped.

"You can't know that, you weren't even there!"

His lips tightened even further, and her arm was beginning to hurt badly where he still continued to hold it. She yanked hard, trying to free it, and then that didn't work, brought her knee up hard in an attempt to catch him in the groin to make him let go.

He dodged the blow adroitly, still never letting go of her arm, and growled. Seren felt a moment of panic and alarm when he began to _glow_, and then he thrust his arm through her chest.

* * *

><p>When he'd first heard the commotion from outside, Fenris had suspected what the cause was. When a breathless slave came running to get him and tell him there was trouble in the yard, his suspicions had been confirmed. He'd hurried outside, hoping to prevent any permanent damage that would have to be explained to Danarius. She'd appeared none the worse for wear, at least not until he'd grabbed her, he thought with a grimace, knowing her arm was going to be a mess. But at least he'd stopped Pollio from strangling her. The death of even a potential bodyguard without his order would have infuriated the magister.<p>

And now he stood, pinning Hawke to the wall with his hand inside her chest. He could see her eyes, wide and round in fear and pain, hear the weird, stuttering, choking sounds she uttered, feel the fluttering of her heart within the cage of his hand. He had no desire to do her any actual harm, and took no pleasure in the use of his powers like this, reminding him that he was more weapon than man. It wasn't like when he executed those who'd crossed Danarius and been caught, or killed in the heat of battle like he had in Seheron. Thrusting his hand inside someone who was essentially powerless in order to cow them was simply…sad.

When he reasoned that she'd had enough, that he could let her go without having her attack him or attempt to flee, he pulled his hand out slowly, making sure he did no damage, and released her arm. Hawke slid to the floor, panting and clutching at her chest. By the time she looked back up, eyes still wide and pained, his anger had fled. It was very likely that she didn't know that anything that happened to her would reflect back on him. He didn't know her well, but he'd seen enough to guess that she wasn't the type of slave to risk another's life for her own benefit.

"Remove your armor," he said quietly. Hawke nodded, not even bothering to protest as she undid her buckles and laces and pulled the leathers off. Fenris kicked them to the side and pulled her to her feet with her other arm, far more gently than he had earlier.

He guided her back to her cell, and she went in without complaint. His first thought when she was safely locked back in was to immediately tell Danarius about what had happened. But something stopped him, a conversation help between himself and the magister the night he'd gotten the healing draught for her. Right now, she was defeated, more so than he'd ever seen her, and her defenses would be lowered.

He could use this.

* * *

><p>"<em>And tell me, Fenris, why I need to bother healing a slave?"<em>

_Fenris lifted one shoulder in a minute shrug, the most ambivalence he dared risk after asking Danarius for magical healing for Hawke. "You need not do it, Master," he replied deferentially. "Right now, her injuries hamper her, but they're not crippling or life threatening. As I am overseeing her training, and want to produce results for you as quickly as possible, I thought I should ask. Her training, and your ability to assess her suitability, will proceed much faster if she is completely healed."_

_Danarius hummed thoughtfully, looking over Fenris with narrowed eyes. "You seem to be getting too independent, my little Fenris, taking up such things of your own volition."_

_Fenris bowed low, letting none of his discomfiture show through. "My only thought was to please you, Master, to make your life easier. I meant nothing else by it."_

_Danarius drummed his fingers on the top of his desk for a few minutes, and then stood, moving to a large cabinet set against a wall. He opened the doors, looked over the contents before finally selecting a healing potion. Not the most powerful of his stock, but certainly greater than most he ever allowed for use with slaves. He held it out and Fenris ghosted across the room to take it. Just as he reached for it, Danarius drew his hand back, leaving Fenris with his own stretched out to his master like a supplicant._

"_Tell me, Fenris, and speak truly: Will my little hawk submit herself to my will?"_

"_No." There was no delay, no hesitation in the answer. Slaves like Hawke did not just give in and roll over. There had to be something forcing them into submission._

"_Then this is your task: Find me something I can use. I don't care how you do, but get me something I can use to compel her. I would prefer to create another bodyguard as quickly as possible, and while there's no guarantee she will even survive, she—like you—fits enough of the criteria that I have high hopes."_

"_Yes, Master," he said, bowing low again, and felt the cool glass vial as Danarius placed it in his hand._

"_And make sure her training continues. It will be some time yet before I'm actually ready to perform the ritual, but I want her completely ready for when the time comes. And if she's not suitable, I need to know so I can continue looking for someone who is."_

"_As you desire, Master," he said with a final bow and backed from the room._

* * *

><p>When Fenris returned to Hawke's cell that night, long after nearly everyone else in the estate was asleep, he carried a lamp and a small basket of supplies with him—salve and ointment, bandages and a loaf of bread. It had bothered him to give the order that she wasn't to be fed tonight, the action reminding him too much of Hadriana, but he needed her weakened. The loaf had been a last minute addition to the basket, the sick feeling in his gut not dissipating until he had.<p>

He walked down the hallway, bare feet silent on the stone, and unlocked her cell as noiselessly as possible. She was curled on her side, facing the door so that she wasn't lying on her injured arm. He nudged her shoulder with his foot, stepping back as she came away with a start, eyes widening in apprehension when she saw him before steeling herself.

"Sit up," he said brusquely.

She didn't move for a moment, and her lips thinned into a hard line. "Planning on sticking your hand inside me anywhere else? Let me know next time and I'll make it easier for both of us."

Fenris ignored that. "Sit up," he repeated.

Hawke rubbed the sleep from her eyes, but complied, sitting up cross-legged and settling her back against the wall while she peered up at him suspiciously. Fenris crouched, setting the basket and lamp down beside him and taking her arm carefully to examine it. There were small holes and spots and streaks of blood where he'd gripped her. He went to push the sleeve up and then frowned. The shirt wasn't tight, exactly, but it would probably be uncomfortable to work with it on. "Can you take this off?"

She hesitated and pursed her lips before slipping her other arm out, and pulled the shirt over her head and then sliding it down her arm. He ignored the way she wrapped her arm over her breasts. From accompanying her each night to the baths, he knew it was most likely a way to protect her pride than any kind of modesty.

A large, purple handprint wrapped around her upper arm, dotted with puncture wounds at the fingertips. Fenris grimaced at the sight. "I'll be right back," he said quietly, picking up the basket and lamp and ducking out of the cell. In a minute, he'd returned with a couple rags, one of them wet, and a fresh shirt. Reentering the cell, he set everything down and proceeded to dab at the wounds with the damp rag, cleaning them. Then he fished a pot ointment out of the basket and dabbed some onto the wounds carefully. Replacing it, he selected another pot and held it out to her. "Rub this into the bruise."

She looked at him suspiciously, but reached into the pot and scooped out a generous dollop with two fingers. He watched as she worked it into her skin carefully, hissing at the pressure. Fenris waited until she was engrossed in the task and then said, "You're from Ferelden."

Stopping, she looked back up at him. "Yes…" she said slowly. "What of it?"

"Nothing really. I questioned the other guards about what happened and it came up." Seeing she was done, he handed her the wet rag to wipe her fingers on, and took a roll of bandages out. Pulling her arm out, he began wrapping it over the bruise. "We don't get many slaves from Ferelden here, so you're a bit of an oddity. How did you end up here?"

She huffed a small breath of laughter. "_I'm_ the oddity, am I?" Fenris said nothing, merely waited. Observing her at practice, he knew she liked to talk, and he suspected that right now, a willing ear might convince her to reveal something.

Hawke sighed. "It isn't if I planned to end up here," she murmured. "I'm from this little village called Lothering. It wasn't much to begin with, and that was before the darkspawn destroyed it."

"Darkspawn?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I don't know how much you heard up here, but do you know about Ostagar?"

Fenris nodded, handing her the shirt to slip into now that he was done bandaging her. Information from the southern most reaches of Thedas was spotty, and even more so for a slave, but being so close to Danarius meant that he'd been privy to more information than most. "The first major battle of the Blight. It was a defeat and the king was slain."

This time, Hawke's laugh was humorless. "A defeat is putting it mildly. We were routed."

"'We?' You were there?" This was something Fenris had not been expecting.

"Yeah, me and my brother, Carver. We were with the force that was supposed to surround the darkspawn once that horde had all moved in to engage the other half of our forces. Only…the darkspawn didn't stop coming. And then the signal tower went up, and instead of charging, the retreat was sounded."

When she fell silent, Fenris took the loaf from the basket and handed it to her. "And then?" he prodded.

She took the bread with a nod of thanks. "And then we ran. Carver and I high-tailed it back to Lothering, pushing as hard as we could. When we got back, we told our mother and Bethany—our sister—to pack their bags, gather any supplies and coin we had, and get ready to leave. We left Lothering before most of the other soldiers even got back. We had to fight a few darkspawn, but we made it to Gwaren, and took ship to Kirkwall."

She took a few bites of bread, chewing and swallowing before she continued. Against his better judgment, Fenris found himself intrigued. Attacks from assassins and other magisters were familiar to him, as was battle, as he'd experienced against the qunari. But a war against so clear a foe, fighting to defend one's home? No, he had no experience with that.

"As you can probably guess, the ship didn't take us to Kirkwall. The captain decided there was far more profit to be had in taking all our money and possessions and selling us to the Tevinters. We realized what was happening when the ship didn't turn into the Waking Sea and the sailors came down to take our things."

She lowered her head, picking at the bread. "We could have fought," she said quietly, her hands tightening on the loaf and crushing it. "Me, Carver and Bethy. But we were the only ones in the hold with weapons and training. The three of us wouldn't have been able to take all of them." She swallowed hard, rubbing at her suddenly damp eyes with the heel of her hand, and her voice held a raw edge of pain when she spoke again. "Dane, my mabari, defended us when they came to take our stuff. I couldn't get him to back down, and they killed him, but not before he mauled three of them."

Fenris had heard of mabari, originally from Tevinter. Fantastically intelligent beasts—altered with magic—who were fearsome fighters in their own right. Magisters had brought the dogs to Ferelden, only to have the beasts turn on them, allying themselves with the barbarians who were closer in nature to them. They chose their owners themselves, imprinting on the humans to such an extent that they could die if forcibly taken away or if they lost their master.

Or so the lore went.

The revelation forced him to re-evaluate Hawke. He'd guessed that she was proud, but to be imprinted by a mabari suggested a greater strength that he'd originally suspected. It also reinforced the notion that breaking her would be a far greater challenge than he and Danarius had first thought.

"And so you came to Minrathous?"

"Yes. The captain reasoned we might be worth more in the capital, what with the high demand and all. We were separated, all of us being sold to different owners." She glared down at the bread in her hands. "If I ever find that captain," she whispered fiercely, "I'm going to gut him!"

Fenris refrained from saying that such a thing was almost completely unlikely. Instead, he repacked the items into the basket and rose. "Your arm should be better in the morning, but I'll arrange for training that doesn't stress it."

"Thank you." She held up the mangled loaf. "And thank you for the bread, though I seem to have lost my appetite."

He just nodded and let himself out of the cell. "In the morning," he said. "Try to sleep."

Fenris had the information he wanted. If they could be found, Hawke's family might prove the key to her obedience.

* * *

><p>The next morning, after he'd set Hawke to work with just Marcus again, and…encouraged the rest of the guard to keep Pollio away, he sought out Danarius. The magister was already seated in his study, going through his correspondence when Fenris found him.<p>

"Ah, Fenris," he said without looking up, "I heard there was a problem yesterday."

"It has been taken care of, Master."

Danarius did look up at that, a quick, cutting, _displeased_ look. "You forget your place!" he snapped. "It is not for you to decide how things are taken care of!"

Making a quick decision, Fenris knelt and bowed his head. "Forgive me, Master. I used the opportunity to complete the task you set before me."

"Oh?"

Quickly, Fenris related all that he'd learned. His senses were screaming at him to look up, to identify the dangers around him while his training screamed at him to stay on his knees, to placate his master and hope for the best.

Finally, he heard the scrape of the chair as Danarius slid it back, and swish of the magister's robe as he paced. "Interesting," he murmured. "Finding them might not be easy, but if I can, it shouldn't be hard to procure them. You said her brother was a fighter? He may have ended up in one of the arenas. And if the sister's comely enough, she's probably pleasing another senator right now. If she's become a favorite, she might be the hardest to get. But no matter, I don't need all of them, I don't think."

Danarius walked closer and Fenris felt the mage's hand touch his head, tipping it back so that he was looking up. "You did well, Fenris, in bringing this to me. Family can be such a strong motivator." There was a malicious gleam in his eye at the last part and Fenris shifted uncomfortably.

And then Danarius's face hardened and twisted, and Fenris privately cursed his master's mercurial moods. "But you should have _not_ withheld that fight from me, nor taken it upon yourself to deal with it." His hand drifted down until it rest on Fenris's throat, over the lyrium markings, and Fenris tried to brace himself for what he knew was coming.

Pain burst over him, igniting the lyrium in his flesh and burning like fire. Screaming, he fell back, the agony continuing even after he fell away from the mage's hand. He thrashed upon the floor, trying to get away from the pain that came from within. And as suddenly as it began, it stopped, leaving him sprawled out, shaking and twitching, his chest heaving as he gasped with sobbing breaths.

"You may go," Danarius dismissed him, seating himself at his desk once more. Fenris got shakily to his feet, dipping in a shaky bow. Once back in the corridor, he slumped against a wall, composing himself until he felt steady once more. Then he took a deep breath and set out for the training yard. He would not be sparring today, but he would be watching. If Danarius was serious about finding Hawke's family, then he was determined to try his experiments on her, and Fenris would need to make sure she was ready.


	5. Chapter 5

When no one came to get her for training the next morning, and no one came to deliver breakfast, Seren knew that today she would be punished for her outburst in the yards. She picked nervously at the thin linen of her trousers. She could handle the pain, she knew that, but it didn't mean she liked it or was looking forward to it.

If anything, the waiting was almost worse. _Well, no_, she amended her thoughts, _it really wasn't_. But at least the pain she knew how to deal with, how to bear it and work through it. It was something she could focus on, an immediate task she could deal with. She couldn't do that with the waiting. Being calm and waiting was always something Bethany and her mother were so much better at. Probably from all those years of meditation exercises and learning how to be a proper noble lady, respectively.

The sound of boots in the hall was almost a relief, then, when Fenris and two guards came for her. She stood as they unlocked the cell. Fenris stepped into the cell with her, producing a small coil of rope from his belt. "Your hands," he said.

"I'll go with you," she replied, looking past him to the guards. "It's not like I'm going to fight."

"Your hands," he repeated.

It was a futile battle, but never let it be said that she didn't try. "Bondage _and_ an audience? My, my, the things you learn about people."

Nothing. Not even the faintest twitch of a grin on any of their faces. Seren sighed and rolled her eyes, but held out her hands. Fenris crossed them at the wrists and bound them neatly. He left no slack, but neither did he make the rope too tight—just a simple, efficient knot to do the job.

They led her out to the same place where Danarius had first interrogated her to learn her name. She was taken to a post this time, solidly buried in the ground, and the rope around her wrists was tied to a metal ring embedded in the top. Seren had to stretch, nearly on her tiptoes, her face uncomfortably close to the rough wood of the post.

The guards moved off to the side and she expected Fenris to do the same, but she felt him move behind her, his body blocking the sun. For a moment, she wasn't sure what he was doing, and then she felt a pull followed by tugs on her shirt as he cut it down the back with a dagger. The two halves of the material were pushed to the side, out of the way, and Fenris also stepped away. Seren could feel the hot sun on her skin, from neck to hips, and almost immediately she began to sweat.

She heard the sound a whip uncoiling, falling to land on the ground, and turned her head to the side, trying to brace her face on her upper arms so that it wouldn't be driven into the wood. She realized her mistake almost immediately. Danarius was sitting at the edge of the whipping area, hands steepled as he watched impassively, while a slave held a parasol above him to keep the sun off him. Though she would have preferred not to look at him, she wouldn't turn away now and give him the satisfaction of thing he'd won.

For a moment nothing happened, and the Danarius made a small gesture with one hand. The whip slithered across the ground, and she heard the sound of its passing as Sergius drew it back. Drawing a deep breath, she gritted her teeth and waited.

The crack of the whip sounded at the same time agony exploded across her back. A cry escaped her throat before she could choke it back, and she clenched her jaw hard enough to hurt to keep any more from being voiced.

Ten strokes. Ten times the whip cracked and seared lines of fire across her back. By the time Sergius finally stopped, sweat was pouring down her face and back, making the marks burn more. Her breath was coming hard between clenched teeth, and she fervently wish that she were still in her cell waiting.

Danarius stood, the slave shading him scurrying to keep with his quickly striding form. He disappeared from view and into the shadows of the estate without another glance, and Seren sagged as soon as he was past her line of sight. Sergius barked orders at the rest of the guard and they moved back to their tasks without comment.

The sun was blocked again as Fenris came up and untied her hands from the post, and then removed the rope entirely. Seren staggered for a moment when she was completely free, and his hand shot out to steady her. After leaning against him for a moment, she shook his support off, forcing herself to stand steady while she rubbed her chafed wrists. Then she shrugged her ruined shirt back enough that it wouldn't fall off, but not so far back that it would touch her wounds, and followed him back inside.

"What? No training after that?" she quipped, but even she could hear the strain in her voice, the words falling flat and far short of their intended humor.

"No," he said quietly, ushering into her cell.

"Lucky me," she muttered, and sank down onto her pallet as if it were the deepest, softest feather mattress ever made.

Surprisingly, she slept, waking only when her stomach's rumbling woke her up. Groaning, she buried her face in the pallet. "Quiet, you," she ordered her stomach, and giggled when it refused to listen. She got a hold of herself before her laughter turned hysterical. Too much tension and pain, not enough food and rest were a bad combination. Seren shifted on her pallet and stood stiffly, peering out of her window. It appeared to be late afternoon, and she was slightly annoyed that no one had bothered to, oh, _feed her_.

Her back still hurt, but standing felt good, so she folded her arms and rested her head on them, watching as the sky began to darken and change color as the sun set. Unaccountably, she tried to remember the last time her family had watched the sunset together. It had been years ago, before her father died, and long before the Blight came to Ferelden and all of…_this_ had happened. She wondered where her family was—if they were alive, if they were all right, and if they were somewhere where they could see the sunset, too.

"Hawke."

Seren started at the sound of her name, unheard for so long. Fenris stood at the door to her cell, with a slave girl holding her dinner. She turned around as the door was open and the food set down, the girl hurrying away as soon as she was done.

"Here."

Fenris held out another healing potion to her. Taking it, she looked down at the vial of red liquid in her hand and then at the tattooed elf. "Doesn't it strike you as stupid to whip somebody and then heal them?"

He returned her gaze impassively. "It is not for us to question the whims of magisters."

She almost laughed, a grin starting to form when she realized he was serious. He really and truly believed what he said, that they were supposed to do as they were told and not ever question the commands given to them. Did all slaves think like that, she wondered. Did they never question, never wonder how twisted their masters were, and yearn for something more, something better?

That it came from _Fenris_ made her deeply uncomfortable. She'd seen what the elf could do, what he was capable of. Had she even a fraction of his power, nothing could stop her from grabbing at her freedom. But this warrior felt none of that. Instead he served those who enslaved him faithfully, and Seren could not understand it. Would that be her one day, too? Would she someday look at another slave and tell them to accept their lot?

_No_. She broke her eye contact with him, busying herself with removing the wax seal and swallowing the potion. That would never be her. She would not forget who and what she was, and she would never resign herself to this fate.

When the potion was gone, she handed him the empty vial. "I'm surprised he bothered to give you that now instead of making me wait until the morning."

"Master Danarius has more pressing concerns tonight, and you will hardly be his first priority when he rises tomorrow. I thought it prudent to take care of this now rather than bring it to him when he is in a less receptive mood."

Seren looked at him curiously, and then laughed as understanding set in. "He's going to enjoy himself somewhere tonight and get drunk, and you don't want to have to ask him for a potion when he's dealing with a hangover."

Fenris's eyes narrowed and she chuckled again. "Oh, don't worry your pretty little head. I'm not going to try anything. And besides, I can hardly complain as it benefitted me. So thank you."

Still looking at her doubtfully, Fenris stepped out of the cell, locking the door behind him. He stood for a moment as if to say something, but then retreated silently down the hall. Once he was gone, Seren bent to see what delicacies had been given to her tonight. She sighed at the stew and bread. _Ah, well, better than nothing_, she thought, and dug in.

* * *

><p>Later that night, Seren woke abruptly. Blinking up into the darkness, she held her breath, listening for whatever had disturbed her dreamless sleep.<p>

A female voice, screeching in rage, floated through the estate, reaching down even to the slave quarters in the silent stillness of the night. Something shattered. The only person Seren could think who could get away with that was Danarius's apprentice, Hadriana. She'd only seen the woman a few times, while taking breaks during training. The guards spoke of her occasionally in hushed whispers, and from the snatches she caught, she was glad her path never crossed the other woman's.

Her screaming drifted through the estate, growing louder as it continued. Seren supposed the woman's rooms must be close to where her own were, if a couple of levels up. The archways—open to the air as they were—allowed sound to carry very well. Eventually, the shrieks tapered off, although there were a few other crashes. Stillness reigned for a moment before it was broken by a muted thump, the sound of something heavy and soft hitting the ground. Perhaps Hadriana had knocked over a padded chair in her fit of pique?

More thumps. Seren frowned. Was there really that much throw-able furniture upstairs? Another thump, and underneath that sound, a grunt. She froze. _Shit_. Hadriana wasn't throwing furniture around, she was throwing a _person_.

Seren closed her eyes, willing herself to go back to sleep. She couldn't help the poor bastard trapped up there with that sadist bitch. Eventually the sounds stopped altogether, though sometimes she thought she could hear the ghost of a cry.

And Fenris thought she shouldn't question this. Jackass.

* * *

><p>The bathing room was quiet, the occasional plink of a drop falling through on of the grates on the floor the only thing to break the silence. Fenris sat on one of the benches, a cloth draped around his waist, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees to support himself. Hadriana had let him go not more than a half hour before, and though he longed for the relative peace of his cell, he needed to clean up first.<p>

Washing himself off had been an arduous task. Every tickle of water down his back had made him shudder, and attempting to use a rag had had made his arms shake with the pain. In the end, he'd had to stop—the rag too blood-stained to be of any use—and simply rinse his back as best he could, letting it dry in the air and occasionally blotting it with a sheet. As he waited to blot yet again, he wondered how far Hadriana would have to go before Danarius reprimanded her. It seemed that as long as she repaired any damage before Danarius saw him the morning, the magister was content to let her do as she pleased.

Nearly an entire day he'd been at her "mercy" this time. She'd claimed possession of him as soon as they'd returned to the estate from Magister Cassius's party and Danarius had gone to his chambers to sleep off his excesses until late the next day. Hadriana had been in a black mood. Even Fenris knew that she was not very well respected by other magisters and apprentices. At her age, it was expected that she'd have risen higher than she had, and her lack of elevation was seen as a lack of skill and cunning.

Fenris had been privy to enough of her rants to know that she was waiting for Danarius to die, or to make a mistake so she could eliminate him and take his place. But that did not mean she enjoyed the way in which others viewed her. Every comment, every dig, every insult stung her like a poisoned barb, hate burrowing and festering deep inside. And while she couldn't take her displeasure out on those who mocked her, she could take it out on those like Fenris.

The sound of footsteps from the hall made him stiffen and half turn so that he was facing the door. Who would be coming by this late? And then Hawke stepped in, shadowed by a guard, clad only in the grimy, sweat-stained linens she wore beneath her armor. She stopped when she saw him, blinking in surprise, before grinning.

"So that's where you are. I was wondering where you'd gotten off to today. Needed a break from me, huh?"

Fenris ignored her, gritting his teeth, and focused his attention on the guard behind her. "Thank you for watching her. I apologize for not being there today. You may go. I'll see that she's locked in."

The guard grunted and immediately turned on his heel.

"Hmm," Hawke mused, from where she stood looking at the empty doorway the guard had disappeared through. "That might be offensive if I hadn't just been insulting his mother's sexual proclivities."

Fenris took a deep breath to steady himself, and closed his eyes for a moment to will himself the strength to deal with her without snapping. "Get cleaned up," he ordered, standing up and reaching for his clothes.

"Don't need to tell me twice," she said, already stripping out of her soiled garments. "This is the best part of my day, after all. Now if I could just find a nice, big tub to…."

There was hint of confusion as her words trailed off, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her lick her lips.

"Is that…is that _blood_?"

Fenris ignored her, stooping slightly to pull his smallclothes on, biting his cheek as he felt the wounds tear open and fresh trickles of blood run down his back. He felt more than heard her approach, turning on the balls of his feet so that he faced her, hiding the damage from her prying, too-blue eyes.

There was genuine, naked concern on her face, and he had to look away. It was a look he'd never had directed at him, though he'd seen it shared among the other slaves. To see it now and to know he was the focus was unsettling. Groping blindly behind him for his shirt, he repeated his command. "Clean yourself up."

"Fenris. Maker! What happened to your back?" She reached out, clasping his arm to turn him so she could get a better look.

Her hand had barely touched him before he'd turned on her, reacting instinctively and without any conscious thought, tattoos alight and humming with power, grabbing both her arms and driving her back into the wall, her breath exploding from her in an explosion of sound. "_Don't touch me_!"

Her eyes were huge in her suddenly pale face, so wide he could see the white all the way around the irises, and her mouth fell open in surprise. Then, without warning, his vision dimmed and he staggered. He'd lost too much blood over the last day, and his movements had been too fast, too much. Stumbling backwards, the back of his legs bumped into a bench and he collapsed upon it, shaking.

Hawke padded around behind him, and the quick series of indrawn breaths told him how shocking she found the sight. Fenris didn't need to look to know what she saw—long claw marks, carved up and down his back, breaking only where they passed over the swirling lyrium lines.

Claws marks like one might find on a customized set of armor.

The silence lengthened, drew out, until it was almost unbearable even for Fenris. If she uttered one word—one _syllable_—of pity, he would tear her heart out here and now, consequences be damned.

But Hawke blessedly remained silent. From behind him, Fenris heard the rustle of cloth, the swish of water. And then…a very light, very tentative touch of a wet rag to his back. He flinched from the contact, but it didn't make the pain any worse. She didn't try to touch him anywhere but where the rag wiped away the streaks of blood, and with nothing except the rag.

Eventually she stopped, dropping the rag into the bucket with a wet plop. He heard Hawke get up, finish removing her own clothes and wash hurriedly. While she was busy, he stood and reached for the clothes he'd failed to get earlier. His smalls were soaked with water and blood in the back, and he stripped them off. His pants were easy enough to get on, but his shirt was trickier. He knew, even as it settled, that blood would soak through and ruin it, but he wasn't going to walk around without it. There was no need to show everyone his weakness and failure, his scarred body.

"You should bandage those first," Hawke said quietly, and Fenris glared at her. "If you want, I can help. I've—"

"I can do it," he snapped.

"_Fenris_." She shook her head in exasperation. "Some of those are going to be almost impossible to reach. You need help."

"I do not need help." He enunciated each word clearly through gritted teeth. "I do not want help, and I do not want _your_ help. I can tend to my own wounds, I have done it before."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he'd said too much and cursed his careless tongue. "It doesn't matter," he added hastily. "Mistress Hadriana will heal them in the morning anyway."

Shock was the first thing he saw in her face, followed by a profound sadness. "Maker's balls, Fenris," she whispered, closing her eyes and looking as old as he felt. "So it's okay for her to do it because she's going to _fix it_?"

"Enough," he grated. "Just…no more." He was exhausted, and her words and kindness—misplaced though they were—made it hard for him to hold in check all the bitterness and rage he felt. Nothing good could come from indulging himself in such pity. Not only was there no room for such useless emotions in his life, it was not a burden to be shared, especially not to someone who was even more powerless than he.

Finally, she looked away and nodded, turning to go before him. He followed her, limping, feeling a sharp pain shoot up from his left ankle to his knee. The key to her cell was retrieved quickly, and she waited patiently while he got it, still keeping her in sight. Fenris wondered if she realized how easily she might overpower him right now and make a break for her precious freedom.

There was a spark of something in her eyes as he locked the door that told him she did realize that. But she said nothing else and neither did he. Slowly, he made his way up the stairs to his own small room, the last of his strength giving out as he reached the low bed. He collapsed upon the thin mattress, breathing hard and blinking back the sting of tears that he would never allow to fall.

* * *

><p>As he'd told Hawke, Hadriana came the next morning. Overnight, the shirt he hadn't removed had become stuck to the wounds on his back. Hadriana tore the shirt off of him, laughing as his hissed when the material ripped the wounds open again. Then she healed him, and Fenris wondered how it was possible for healing to hurt so much, if that was normal or something she saved especially for him.<p>

When Danarius called for him, there was no sign of what Hadriana had done. His back was straight, his shoulders squared and his steps even. His master gave him a cursory once over, issued a few orders and then dismissed him. Hawke didn't say a word when he fetched her for training, but he felt her eyes on him. He glared at her until she dropped her eyes away and did not look back. Already he'd revealed too much weakness, and he would not allow it to happen again. Nor would he allow her to think her actions would cause him to be more lenient.

That a small part of him wondered that she was willing to help him in the first place was not something he would dwell on. Neither was the fact that she wasn't scared of him, merely cautious.

And he was _not_, he told himself firmly, grateful for it. Such things would only make him weak, vulnerable, and that he could not afford.


	6. Chapter 6

In the aftermath of her whipping and the incident with Fenris—and she really had no better way to describe it—Seren kept her head down and her mouth shut. Since tending to his wounds, Fenris had been even more standoffish with her than usual, which really was quite a feat in and of itself. But Seren couldn't bring herself to be irritated at him for it.

It had to be humiliating for him, to be reduced to a plaything for the amusement of his masters, and _then_ to have someone else bear witness to it. It didn't make her like him, but it did make it a lot harder to hold onto any resentment for the part he played in her captivity. She had enough pride herself to not want to rub salt into his wounds.

So she…made herself less difficult for him. Not with the guards, no. With them she was still the same old mouthy Seren, laughing and joking and disparaging the size of their cocks when she bested one of them, and accepting their returns of her tiny tits and loose cunt when she was the one eating sand. But that was all right, the give and take familiar.

But with Fenris, she respected his silence, only realizing how much of it there was when she wasn't filling the empty air between them with meaningless chatter. And damn the man for noticing! There was nothing that escaped him. He said nothing, oh no, but the occasional sidelong looks spoke volumes if one knew what they were looking for, and increasingly Seren did. With someone as quiet as Fenris, you had to learn how to hear what he was saying in the silence, and he gave her plenty of opportunity. In fact, the more she noticed his silence, the more profound it seemed. If not for the brief directions he occasionally gave the guards, there might have been days when he didn't speak at all.

There was also no repeat of what happened in the baths, though there were nights Seren laid awake in her tiny cell and heard Hadriana being her charming self.

With no current plan for escape—and if she didn't find a way to learn the layout and guard patterns there might never _be_ a plan let alone an escape—she concentrated on her training. She could hold her own fairly well against the younger guards one on one, and Fenris began putting her with some of the older guards. That was a good thing because the more Seren could learn from them, the greater chance she'd have of getting free and finding her family.

What caught her by surprise was that Fenris also began sparring against her.

She wished he didn't.

The first day, she asked why he was doing it and not one of the other guards who wielded similar weapons. His response was a slight half shrug and a terse, "Because I'm better than any of them."

Seren was quickly forced to agree. Any thoughts that maybe he was trying to spare her went right out the window with the first blow he landed on her. His hits were punishing, and he didn't pull them. Her fighting style alone meant it wasn't a good match up for her, especially since he was so damn fast, and combined with his skills, she never lasted very long against him.

It was during one of these sessions that Fenris was called away. He placed her back with a guard and then hurried into the mansion. Seren concentrated on her opponent, but even so, she was aware how very long Fenris was gone. That wasn't unusual. There were days where she only ever saw in the mornings and evenings when he came to get her, and other times when he left to attend to something and didn't return. What worried her this time was that he did return, his expression oddly blank. He took his place against her and Seren spent the next half hour picking herself up off the dirt of the training yard. In any other person, she'd have thought him angry. But she'd seen him angry, when she'd touched him in the bath chamber, and it didn't seem the same. He frowned once when they were done, shook his head, and walked off.

She tried to ignore the way uneasiness slid down her spine.

* * *

><p>The next day, she had her answer. Sort of.<p>

Fenris came for her, but they didn't go straight to the training yard. Instead he led her down the hall to another cell. Inside was a tall, rangy blond man, handsome in a rough-hewn sort of way. Seren frowned as Fenris unlocked the door, noting the similarities between the stranger's cell and her own.

Without a word, Fenris led them both outside. She had a suspicion about who the man was. Well, rather _what_ he was. But Fenris said nothing, and if she wanted confirmation, she was probably going to have to ask. The Black City would turn gold again before she gave him that satisfaction. Instead, she watched the blond man from the corner of her eye, seeing the way he frowned and glared openly at her. They were both taken to get gear, the man equipped with the same type of armor she was, but with a sword and shield instead of her daggers.

Once they were in the training yard, Fenris finally spoke. "You'll both be training together starting today. Hawke, Aldric." With introductions over, Fenris turned to gesture to a couple of the guards. But before he could lay out their training for the day, the blond—Aldric, apparently—protested.

"Her? She is my competition? A woman?" His accent deep, almost guttural and she couldn't place it. Granted, as she'd only been in Ferelden and Tevinter, there were probably a lot of accents she couldn't place, but she wondered how far from home this man was.

Then the meaning of his words hit her and she rounded on him angrily. "How dare—"

He cut her off before she could really get going. "No, I refuse. I will train, but not with a woman. It's an insult."

Again, before she could properly launch into a justified tirade, she was interrupted. Fenris took one step toward Aldric, then planted his foot in the man's gut and kicked him backwards. "You will do as you are told," he said quietly. "You will train as you directed and you will fight who you are told to, or you will die. Is that clear?"

Aldric didn't answer, getting back to his feet angrily. His nostrils flared as he glared at Fenris angrily, but he held his tongue. It wasn't until they'd turned to their assigned guards that she heard him mutter, "And an elf gives orders. This place is a mockery."

This time, the quiet whisper of Fenris's blade coming free of his harness was the elf's answer. In the blink of an eye, he held it to Aldric's throat, the edge of the blade just grazing the apple of the man's throat as he swallowed nervously.

Seren stared openly. It wasn't that he held the blade so easily with one hand. She could do that with Carver's greatsword back home. And Fenris's blade was high quality, likely weighing less than Carver's had. What did impress her was the absolute stillness with which he held the blade. The muscles in his arm that she could see were corded, but there was no strain. How long had he trained to be able to do that so effortlessly? Was it simply his own physical abilities or did it have something to do with those strange white markings? She shivered slightly, and pulled her attention back to where it belonged when Fenris spoke.

"You will cease your complaining, unless you wish to complain to Magister Danarius. Is that clear?" The last three words were slow and succinct, and only someone very stupid could miss the threat behind him. Aldric nodded jerkily twice, and Fenris held his sword there a moment longer before settling it back in his harness.

A quick look in her direction was all it took to get her facing back toward the guard waiting for her.

* * *

><p>Aldric quickly got on her nerves.<p>

He ignored her when Fenris was around—and she wondered if he'd noticed that Fenris dealt with her the same way and he wasn't exactly a knight in shining armor protecting her honor—and insulted her when he wasn't. The one time they'd sparred against each other, he'd abandoned his form—which was admittedly quite good—in order to rush her like a bull, knocking her back and down so that she lay on the dirt looking up at him. And in the baths, he watched her bathe, leering and making rude gestures.

Seren ignored him as best she could, holding onto her temper. It was nice to think her father would have been proud of how long she managed before she finally snapped, launching herself at Aldric, her fist connecting with his mouth hard enough to draw blood. Expecting a sharp reprimand from Fenris, she waited while the elf escorted the man back to his cell and then returned for her.

Waiting as the silence stretched out, she finally glanced up. Fenris's expression was inscrutable, his mouth set in a hard line, brows pulled together in a pensive frown. Finally, he just shook his head, the action almost _disappointed_, and waved her from the bathing chamber, guiding her back to her cell without a sound.

* * *

><p>The edge of the blunted greatsword slammed into her and flung her across what seemed like half the training yard. Ignoring the pain, she rolled to her feet. Not gracefully, not quietly, but she forced herself to, forced herself to bring her long daggers up to face the next assault.<p>

Except it never came. Instead, Fenris had stopped. He stood straight, the tip of his sword planted in the ground and his fist tight upon the hilt. Seren straightened warily, still holding her daggers in front of her. It wouldn't be the first time the elf had surprised her like this.

But he didn't move. Instead, he just looked at her, his face an expressionless, unreadable mask like always.

"Do you want to die?" he asked suddenly.

Seren's brow furrowed. What was he talking about? "Of course not."

"You're not acting like it. The way you're going, you'll be dead inside of a month, if Danarius even waits that long to kill you."

The silence in the yard was heavy as Seren struggled to understand what he was saying. "I don't understand. What are you talking about? I've given Danarius no reason to—"

"He doesn't need a reason," Fenris cut her off. "And you've given him plenty. Continue this and you _will_ die."

"Why do you care?" she snapped, unsettled by his words and channeling it into anger rather than fear. Anger could be used, could be a tool she could fight with. Fear was only a weakness and letting others see was even worse. "Why do you care whether or not I live or die?"

"I don't!" he snarled back, and Seren was taken aback by the response. She'd seen anger from him before, but never quite like this, like he didn't know why he was angry or who to direct it at. It was…unsettling, coming from him. Her hands twisted over the hilts of her daggers, suddenly damp with sweat.

The muscles in his jaw ticked as Fenris gritted his teeth and looked away and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. When he returned his gaze to her, he was calm again, the anger gone as if it had never been. "I don't care whether you live or die. Your life doesn't affect me, outside of what is required of me to help train you. I am merely offering a piece of advice because your death would be a pitiable waste."

Seren licked her lips, letting her arms fall slowly to her sides. Life in Danarius's palace was cutthroat. It was everyone for themselves, each slave ready to turn on another if it meant more food or less punishment. Her life didn't allow her to see much, but she'd picked up enough to know that. And never before had Fenris offered any help like this. He trained her because he had to. He got her healing because it was his task to make sure she was healthy enough to train. There was never a helping hand to pick her up when she was knocked down or an apology for agonies inflicted, even if he did help patch her up after. No advice outside of how to make her a better fighter. This behavior was new, unexpected and confusing, and she didn't know whether or not to trust it.

"Then explain what you mean," she finally said. "I've done what Danarius has asked. Why would he have me killed?"

"Because you've only done what he's asked," he answered, a thread of irritation and impatience coloring his words, as if he were annoyed at having to explain something that should have been clear to her. Seeing her look of incomprehension, he shook his head.

"You give only what he's asked for, nothing more. You do _this_—you train—because you have to, not because you want to."

Seren stared at him in shock. "Want this? I don't _want_ this! I've never wanted any of this!"

"What you want doesn't matter." The words were spoken matter-of-factly, a frank truth laid out for all to see. "Who you think you are, who you used to be, what you want for yourself—none of that matters anymore. It ceased to matter the moment you set foot within these walls."

His grip flexed on the hilt of his sword and something, some emotion, flittered across his face, too fast for her to place it. His next words were quieter, and if Seren imagined hard enough, she could hear the weariness in his tone.

"In this place, you live because Danarius finds some value in having you around. Right now, you're worth less than nothing to him, and you'll remain that way until he gets something in return. So you have to make yourself have value. You have to become something he won't discard or use to power one of his rituals.

With his free hand, he gestured across the yard to where Aldric sparred against two guards. "Do you imagine he will be the last Danarius finds? It's only a matter of time before he finds yet another. Do you think you're special or that'll he'll keep you around simply because you're pretty? Others have come before you, and they have all died under his knife because they failed whatever test he was judging them on. And you will end the same way if you don't change."

There was…truth in his words, loathe though she was to admit it. Swallowing her pride and anger, Seren asked quietly, "What am I supposed to do?"

"You have to fight for it, show him that this is something you want, something you will do whatever it takes to achieve. And you have to mean it. You want to protect your family? Do it by becoming what you must. It's the only way to survive." His lips twisted. "And you do want to survive. You still hope you'll escape some day and rescue your family. And as laughable as that idea is, you have no hope of that at all if you're dead."

Cheeks burning in anger, she looked away, calming herself before saying something she would regret. "Why are you telling me this? You've never offered advice before."

"Because this is a waste of my time. Training you only for you to die in a few weeks has no point. So I won't do it anymore. Not until you decide to fight for any hope at surviving. If you do, you know where to find me."

He yanked his sword out of the ground and headed back inside to clean and rack the practice weapons and armor. Seren stood where she was, head hanging down, blades loosely clasped in her hands. The sun was high over head, hot and searing and she let it beat down on her, almost welcoming the burn of its unforgiving light.

Slowly she turned and went back to her training, focusing on a repetitive series of moves to try and clear her mind. The process was methodical, soothing in its monotony and lulling her into a calmer state. When she was done, wiped down her weapons and armor and put them away, following a guard back inside so she could clean up and be locked back inside her cell.

That pallet was hard, and her aching body protested the movements of lowering herself down so she could stretch out. Here, alone, she thought about what Fenris had said. Could she do what he suggested? Could she not only resign herself to the life before her, but embrace it?

And then she thought about her family. They were out there, somewhere. She'd made her father a promise to protect them, and even though she'd failed so far, she still had a chance to redeem herself. As much as she hated being a slave, she hated the thought of her family living out the rest of the lives the same way even more. Her mother and her baby brother and sister deserved better than that, and she would be damned if she didn't do everything in her power to give it to them.

She wanted to kill Danarius. She wanted to tear and shred and flay him and every single person who had caused harm to her family. But she couldn't. What Fenris had said was true—horrifying and sickening, but true nonetheless. As long as she lived, she could offer the ones she loved a chance. And in order to live, she had to become something other than what she was.

It terrified her. The thought of losing herself scared her so much that she could taste the fear. If she did this, would she lose herself completely? Would anything remain of her that made her who she was? And worse, underneath the fear, there was a small kernel of _want_. No matter how much she tried to tell herself otherwise, there was a small part of her that wanted to show everyone what she was capable of. She hungered for the challenge of it, for the opportunity to make all of her training count, and all the denial in the world wasn't going to make that go away.

Seren threw an arm over her eyes, ignoring the burning sting of unshed tears. She would not cry. There was no room in this life for weakness such as that.

Outside her door, sounds of the household carrying about their business drifted in to her, but she ignored it. She lay exactly where she was, perfectly still while inside her mind and heart raged in desperate battle. By the time night fell, she was exhausted.

In the end, there was only one choice. In the morning, she would find Fenris and show him. She would show her family, show Danarius that she could and would fight for what she wanted.

She would show them all.


	7. Chapter 7

Fenris had not expected his words to Hawke to make such an impression—at least, not so soon. She had nearly pounced on him when he arrived the morning after he chastised her, and there had been an odd gleam in her expression, tired though she looked. Even now, working with the guard, there was a spring in her step, an extra bit of ferocity and tenacity as she fought that hadn't been there before.

A soft step behind him alerted him to Danarius's presence and he ducked his head as his master came up beside him. In silence, Danarius watched the two slaves and the guards working. For several minutes, he said nothing, and then chuckled. "My little hawk seems inspired today. How refreshing."

Knowing better than to say anything when he hadn't been asked a specific question, Fenris kept still, his eyes focused on the fighters.

"Well," Danarius eventually said, "if this keeps up, there may be hope for her yet. What about the male?"

"He is skilled," Fenris offered.

"I can see that, my little wolf. Is he what I need?"

Fenris considered the question. "He does as he is bid, mostly. But he is…sullen about it. I do not think he will accept his role."

"Ah, but that's the beautiful thing about the ritual, Fenris. In the end, it won't matter whether he accepts or not. So many…undesirable traits don't survive the process. He'll be much more amenable after the fact."

Had he once possessed undesirable traits before the ritual? Fenris wondered. Danarius so often spoke cryptically, hinting at things Fenris felt like he should know, but didn't.

"Between the two, who would be ready sooner?"

"Aldric…" Fenris replied slowly. "He had already seen more battle before he arrived here."

"Then perhaps I should attempt the ritual with him first."

No, that was not what he wanted, though he wasn't sure why he cared. "As you wish, Master."

"It sounds like you disagree." Danarius cocked his head, looking at Fenris curiously. He reached out, putting two fingers beneath Fenris's chin, and forced Fenris to look at him. "Speak your mind, Fenris. In this, your…expertise carries valuable weight."

Fenris thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. Misspeaking could cost either of the two slaves their lives. But if he were forced to choose between them…. "Aldric is the better fighter right now, yes. But Hawke, she…she learns quickly. I think she is more adaptable to learning what she needs to in order to fulfill a role in serving you."

His master hummed thoughtfully. "You might have a point. I will make no decisions for now." He chuckled. "It's not as if I could at the moment anyway. Carry on, Fenris." With an idle wave of his hand, Danarius wandered back off into his palace and Fenris released the breath he'd been holding.

Then he glared at Hawke, though she couldn't see it. The heaviness in his chest abated a little. It had weighed upon him, like a stone around his neck, ever since she'd washed his wounds in the bath. Though he hadn't asked for it, he'd owed her a debt because of it and now it was repaid. A slight nudge on how to survive, even if the end result was something she would hate, was the only thing he could offer her.

It was enough.

* * *

><p>Though he expected it to, Hawke's new dedication didn't waver. While it was the result he'd hoped to get when he provoked her, it still unsettled him. It was rather like watching someone race headlong toward a chasm, racing toward their likely death, but the speed being the only thing that might carry them across to the other side.<p>

Her efforts continued to be noticed by Danarius, who seemed rather pleased. One afternoon, a slave came hurrying out to Fenris to tell him that their master wanted to see Hawke, and that she should be made ready and presented to him in an hour. Fenris immediately called a halt to her training, hustling her inside to get her cleaned and fed. A cold slice of meat and half loaf of bread were all he could manage at the moment, and he insisted she eat before getting dressed while he wrung as much water as he could from her hair.

As hypocritical as it was, he knew all too well that Danarius would be displeased if she was brought before him in wet clothes and covered with crumbs. Frowning, he stared at the black mass of hair in his hands. This would never do. It was too long and still too wet and they didn't have the time they needed for it to dry. He'd have to do something else.

Fenris left briefly to retrieve what he needed—a comb and a piece of leather cord. Using just his fingers to begin with, he worked out the larger tangles in her hair. Hawke jerked away from him as his fingers slid over her scalp.

"What are you doing?" she asked sharply.

"Keeping both of our hides intact," he muttered. "Now hold still."

She did as he asked, though the set of her spine and shoulders was rigid. Moving swiftly, he ran the comb through her hair, and then divided the black locks into three sections. Once that was done, he braided the sections into a plait and then brought it up in a loop at the nape of her neck, tying it off with the bit of leather cord. There, now it wouldn't soak the back of her shirt.

Hawke felt the neat braid with one hand, her other clenched around the piece of bread. "Do you do that often?" she asked.

"No," he replied shortly. He didn't need to tell her that he didn't know how he knew what to do. One look at her hair, and he'd known how to bind it up. His mood wasn't helped by the fact that he hated when things like this happened, when he knew how to do something he shouldn't have. One more reminder of a life he no longer remembered.

"Then you're a natural."

"Finish your food," he said, forcing her to drop the subject.

Looking at the mangled crust in her hand, Hawke shook her head and placed the bread on the bench. "I'm not hungry anymore. Can I have my clothes?" She held out a hand, and nearly snatched the clothing from Fenris's grasp, yanking it on quickly.

Fenris frowned at her. Why was she so tense now? Fear of Danarius? She'd never shown such behavior before. Fenris studied her carefully, noting the odd flush of her cheeks and neck. And when she pulled on her shirt, he caught a brief glimpse of her breasts and the fact that her nipples had tightened into hard beads.

Shocked, Fenris averted his gaze from what he now recognized as the obvious signs of her arousal, a mirroring flush heating his cheeks. He hadn't meant to do that. Hawke was cavalier about her nudity in the baths, and he spared no second thought for that. He hadn't expected his touch now to provoke any reaction, especially not a…positive one, and the fact that it did disturbed him. Even if he wanted to make her feel like…that, he didn't want to be the one to do it against her will.

As soon as she was covered, he jerked his head toward the doorway. "Our master waits. Come."

They walked through the halls in silence, finally stopping before the great double doors to Danarius's study. He knocked and waited for the magister to bid them enter.

"Wait outside, Fenris," Danarius said once they stepped inside. "I wish to speak to my little hawk alone."

Ignoring Hawke's sudden hiss of breath, Fenris bowed and left quickly, closing the door firmly behind him. Alone in the hall, he waited, hands lightly clasped behind his back. Through the thick door, he could hear the muted murmur of Danarius's voice, and the pauses where Hawke was probably replying in a quieter voice. Time dragged on, and Fenris shifted slightly. There was no one there to see him, so he rocked back and forth on his heels, partly from boredom and partly because he wanted to. Just because he could stand perfectly still for hours did not mean he _liked_ to. His boots and armor creaked softly with his movements.

Finally the door opened and as Hawke slipped out into the hall, Danarius called him. He entered quickly, shutting the door behind him and standing before Danarius's massive desk.

"You have done well, Fenris. It seems she has learned her place and accepts it—to a degree. There is much more work to be done, but I am well pleased with her progress so far."

"Thank you, Master."

Danarius waved the thanks away. "I have something in mind to help her shed her lingering defiance, but for now I want you to push her as much as you can. Have you started training her in hand to hand combat yet?"

"No, Master. I think it best if she learns to master her own weapons first."

"And is she close to doing so?"

Fenris thought, mentally going over her progress of the last several weeks. "I believe she is close," he said carefully. "There is only so much one can learn from training."

"Do you think some fighting experience would help her?"

"Yes, I do."

"Hmm. Then you have my permission to arrange for small melee competitions to test her in. Speak with my guard-captain so that he may draw up some incentives for the others to do their best."

"It shall be as you command, Master."

"Naturally. Carry on then. Now, I have other business to see to for the rest of the evening."

"Do you require my presence, Master?"

"No." Danarius shook his head. "I will be in my laboratory. You may attend me in the morning."

"Yes, Master." Fenris hurried to open the door for Danarius, stepping back to allow the mage to pass through first.

Instead of heading for his laboratory, Danarius stopped. "Well, now, this won't do at all."

Fenris was about to ask what his master meant when he realized they were alone in the hall. Hawke was gone. Fenris felt his blood run cold. _No._ No, she couldn't have done this to him. He felt Danarius's eyes upon him. "I will find her, Master."

"You'd best do that, Fenris. I would hate to think you could be so careless with an investment." Swallowing the urge to retort that it was Danarius who had pulled him away and prevented him watching her, Fenris looked up and down the hall and then chose a direction. The front door was guarded and Hawke should have anticipated that. So it only made sense that she would head toward the back of the mansion.

Sparing a quick glance into each room as he moved down the hall, he was brought up short when he found her not two doors down. In the great, cavernous room that was Danarius's library, he found her simply standing before a shelf, leather bound tome open in her hands. She looked up as he entered. "Oh, hello. Sorry, I got sort of bored and figure I'd look around. Are you…?"

She trailed off as Danarius entered the room behind Fenris, blue eyes going wide and cheeks going pale. From the corner of his eye, Fenris could see Danarius stiffen at the sight of a slave standing in _his_ library, one of _his_ books in her hands. Though Fenris inwardly cursed her stupidity, he admired the way she calmly closed the book and slid it back onto the shelf, even though her hands trembled faintly.

Danarius was enraged. It could be seen it in the stiffness of his body, the way his hands clenched into fists, the thin line of already thin lips. Fenris braced himself for the explosion of the magister's anger, knowing full well that even though Hawke would bear the brunt of it, he would be caught up in it.

Instead, Danarius calmed himself. Eyes still on Hawke, he spoke to Fenris through gritted teeth. "Take her below. I will deal with this in the morning."

"Yes, Master," Fenris answered, though Danarius was already striding out of the library. Once their master was gone, he wasted no time in grabbing Hawke by the arm and dragging her out of the room.

"I didn't know," she mumbled. "I thought…oh, Maker!"

Fenris didn't bother to respond. Once down at the cells below, he all but tossed Hawke into hers and locked the door, stalking about without a backward glance. _Stupid, foolish woman! What would it take for her to learn?_

* * *

><p>The next morning, Danarius—still in a foul mood—once again had Hawke taken out to the yard. Again, her wrists were tied to the post and Sergius wielded the whip. This time, her punishment was twenty lashes and Hawke could not stifle her cries as they were delivered in quick succession. When he took her back to her cell, her cheeks were wet with tears, her lip bloodied from when she'd bitten it.<p>

Perhaps if the punishment was unjustified, he might have felt pity. Instead, all he felt was anger. Though she had every chance to prove herself, to increase her odds of survival, she seemed determined to cast them back into everyone's faces. And to think he'd tried to help her, tried to give her an advantage. Never again.

Danarius would not provide any sort of healing, not for a few days at least, in order to help the lesson sink in. But in that time, infection and fever could set in. And not wanting to have to explain to his master why his _investment_ was crippled or dead, he fetched clean cloths and water and a salve that would burn, but keep the wounds from festering.

He was not gentle as he dressed her wounds, speed more than care evident in his actions. When he was done, he left her lying facedown on the pallet and gathered up the supplies.

"Fenris?" she mumbled when he stood.

"What?" he snapped.

One bleary eye, glazed with pain, cracked open to look at him. "Did you get in trouble for what I did?"

"No."

"Good." And with that, her eyes closed and she passed out.

For a long time, Fenris stood there, looking down at her, some of the anger bleeding out of him before he sighed wearily and left. Hawke was like her name, something wild and meant to be free. This life would kill her, one way or another. The ritual—if she survived it—would be a blessing. If she could not remember what it was to be free, she could not long for it.

_Liar_, a small voice whispered deep inside. And for a moment, Fenris wasn't standing in Danarius's cells, but in a Seheron jungle, feeling for the first time that there might be something more to his life than what he'd been told and allowed.

With a muttered oath, Fenris shook his head. Such memories did no one any good. He replaced his supplies and slowly made his way to find Danarius. Fenris found his master in the front courtyard, taking delivery of a new slave. It was a young human man with dark hair. Fenris paid little attention until he caught a glimpse of the man's eyes as he looked around—bright, piercing blue. Fenris took a closer look, and now that he was closer, there was no disguising the similarity between the new slave and one passed out in the cells.

Danarius, when he finally finished and had the slave taken away, turned to him, smiling widely in satisfaction.

* * *

><p>"That was a foolish thing to do."<p>

Fenris and Seren sat on a bench in the shade of the mansion's walls, taking a break to catch their breath and cool down. Now that she was healed, they'd resumed training in earnest, and the increasing heat of oncoming summer meant Seren needed more frequent water breaks until she adapted. She looked over at him, quirking an eyebrow.

"What? The library?"

"Yes, of course the library," he snapped. "What would possess you to do something that reckless?"

She leaned back against the wall and shrugged. "I don't know. I just…couldn't help myself, I guess."

He snorted. "And you paid for it in pain and blood. Foolishness."

"It was worth it. And next time I just won't get caught." Her words were quiet, but firm. "It's one of the things I miss most, reading. We never had very many books—too difficult to take them with us if we had to run during the night—but every one we had was worth its weight in gold to us. It opens up this whole new world in your head, and no one can touch you there." She laughed softly. "Sometimes, I think my love of reading is the greatest gift my father ever gave me."

There was only silence from her companion and she nudged his leg. "Oh, come on. You going to tell me you've never just wanted to curl up with a good book and forget everyone else exists?"

When Fenris looked at her, there was no humor in his gaze. "While I may have wanted to forget everyone else existed, something like that is impossible for me."

With a roll of her eyes, Seren sighed. Fenris could be so damn literal sometimes. Maker knew she was trying to crack that shell of his, but he made it damned difficult at times. "Yes, yes, I know. We're all slaves and not permitted to own things or go off by ourselves and do nothing for several hours. Sheesh, I'm just asking you to use your imagination."

"Do you imagine slaves are taught to read?" he snarled, careful to keep his voice low even in his anger. Seren gasped softly, eyes widening as she realized her error. "Have you ever seen a slave from Tevinter who can read? Have you ever seen the slaves with their tongues cut out for teaching other slaves to read and giving them foolish ideas like freedom? The magisters do everything within their power to make sure any rebellion raised can never succeed. You speak of things you know nothing about, and reveal your ignorance with every word!"

With that, he shoved himself off the bench and stalked back to the yard. Seren sighed and rubbed her temples. Every time she thought she was making some headway with the elf, she did something to set back all their progress. Shaking her head, she got to her feet and walked across to join him. They did not speak again for the rest of the day.

* * *

><p>The next day, Seren allowed Fenris to continue giving her the silent treatment. He was the closest thing she had to a friend here—awkward moments in the baths not withstanding—and given how much time she was required to spend with him, it seemed like a good idea to let him work through his anger rather than opening her mouth and provoking him.<p>

When they rested for the noon meal, to wait until the sun began to climb down from its zenith to resume training, Seren walked cautiously over to where Fenris sat. She didn't attempt to sit next to him, but instead crouched near the end of the bench he was sitting on. His eyes flicked over to her, and she could see the unspoken question in them—What do you want _now_?—but she ignored it. Taking her practice dagger, she began tracing in the dirt in front of him. When she was done, she tapped the loose grains of soil from the tip and slid the weapon back into the sheath. Then she waited.

The silence dragged on for minutes, and she watched from the corner of her eyes as Fenris stared at the characters carved into the soil. A slight crease appeared between his eyebrows, and a faint frown furrowed the top of his nose. She bit her lip to keep from giggling. He'd almost certainly be horrified to hear that she found that expression adorable.

Finally he looked over at her. "Well? What does it say? Or is this just mockery I'm supposed to endure?"

"Fenris," she said simply.

"Yes?"

At that, she permitted herself a small laugh. Fenris's expression tightened even further and he tensed in preparation to leave again. "No," she said quickly, "don't go. You misunderstand me. It says 'Fenris.'"

For what seemed like forever, he just stared at the letters, even when she named each one and drew out their pronunciation. Abruptly, he stood, and with one smooth motion, drew his foot over his name, leaving the dirt smooth, as if nothing had ever been there.

Seren watched him walk away, feeling unexpectedly hurt. She'd hoped he would accept this as the peace offering she meant it as. She'd been looking forward to showing him and his reaction was not at all what she'd expected. Swallowing back her disappointment, she settled onto the ground cross-legged, not looking forward to the rest of the day.

* * *

><p>Things improved between the two of them slowly over the next handful of days. Fenris's one word answers slowly became several and soon they were back to what passed for normal for them. Seren didn't try bringing up the subject of reading again and considered the matter finished.<p>

So when he reached for one of her daggers after he'd finished eating one day, she merely cocked an eyebrow. Fenris leaned forward, brow furrowed, and slowly and haltingly began to trace in the dirt. Seren's eyes widened as she watched the letters appear. They were slightly misshapen and uneven, but still perfectly legible. When he was done, he handed the dagger back to her, and his gaze when she managed to catch it, was hesitant. It rocked her, to see that something as small as this could leave someone like _Fenris_ unsure.

She toyed with the dagger in her hands. "The first thing my father ever taught me to read and write was my name," she said, talking to fill the silence and to keep herself from laughing with joy and attracting unwanted attention. "He said…." She stopped, took a breath and went on. "He said names have power, that they make us who we are."

Fenris considered her words for several long moments. "Fenris is the name Danarius gave me. His 'little wolf.' If I had another name before, I do not remember."

Seren cocked her head. Before? Before what? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but the expression on Fenris's face, the tightness at the corners of his eyes and mouth stopped her. Whatever it was that he was remembering, it was painful, and he wouldn't thank her for prying.

"It's still _your_ name," she said. "It belongs to you. And my father also said that when we've mastered them, who we are can never be taken from us, no matter where _we're_ taken."

"Strange words for a free man," Fenris murmured.

Seren chuckled sadly. "My father was never really free," she explained. "He was an apostate, and spent his whole life trying to stay out of the Circle." At that, Fenris's eyes widened slightly, and she could see the tension that entered his frame. "We ran from the templars so often. We learned how to keep our heads down, how to avoid getting in any kind of trouble that might bring the templars sniffing around. To my father, knowledge was power, and that power helped keep his family together. It was power he made sure we had as soon as we were able."

"It is a wonder then," Fenris said slowly, "that someone like you should be so poor a slave."

Seren gaped at him, and then caught the sly look in his eye. He…he made a joke. She snapped her gaze up to the sky, as if searching for something.

"What is it?" Fenris asked quickly.

She looked at him with an innocent, guileless expression. "I'm waiting for the sun to go out or for the sky to fall, because if you've developed a sense of humor then the world must be ending."

There it was, a slight twitch of the corner of his lips, and she chortled gleefully.

"Yes, you're very droll," he muttered.

"I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry. So…are you going to let me teach you to read?"

He started in surprise, and then frowned in thought. "It will be dangerous."

"And since when do I do anything here that _isn't_ dangerous?"

"True. But…you mean it? You would do this?"

"Absolutely."

"Why?" he demanded.

"Why not?" she countered. "No one should ever be denied the chance to learn.

"I…then, yes, I will. But only on one condition."

"And what's that?"

"You allow me to teach you Arcanum. Your speech is…an offense to one's ears."

Seren laughed brightly. Perhaps all hope wasn't gone from this Makerforsaken place after all. "Deal," she agreed, and stuck out her arm.

He clasped it in his to seal the deal, careful to grip her gauntlet where his markings wouldn't touch her skin.

"Come on," she said, hopping to her feet and slapping him on his armored back. "I'm suddenly in the mood to kick your ass. I'll teach you how to spell 'ow.'"

* * *

><p>Seren's good mood lasted for a few days. She saw neither hide nor hair of Danarius, and Fenris was…actually, she didn't know what Fenris was. There was no overt change in his behavior, just small, subtle things. He gave her more privacy in the baths, going so far as to step outside the door sometimes as she washed. And he seemed less tense when they were together. Not relaxed, never that, but it no longer seemed like he would shatter if he didn't hold himself perfectly rigid.<p>

When Fenris halted their practice early one day, she grinned, looking forward to a few extra hours of sleep. Back in her cell, she took her time stretching, loosening and limbering muscles in a way she rarely got to do after a full day of training. She was lying back on her pallet, holding her toes in a pointed position to stretch her calf muscles, when the cell door was abruptly opened.

Instead of Fenris or the guard on duty standing there, there were two slave women, and behind them two other guards. Seren got to her feet warily and came forward when one of the women beckoned her. In the hall, they formed up around her like and escort and brought her upstairs. Questions were whirling through her mind, and they only multiplied when she was a led to a rather luxurious, if small, bathing chamber, where a sunken tub waited full of steaming water.

Seren might not have known what exactly was going on, but she wasn't stupid. She stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the tub, unable to stop a sigh from escaping her lips as the hot water enveloped her. When the two slaves began to scrub her, however, she balked and tried to pull away.

For women smaller that she was, they were surprisingly strong. In the end, they won and Seren let them manipulate her limbs at will, moving as they directed to wash and rinse her hair. When they were satisfied, Seren was dragged from the bath and unceremoniously plopped down on a bench while one slave dried her body and then began massaging oil into her skin while another worked on her hair, drying it, combing it, brushing it, and then finally bringing it up high on the crown of her head. Using a cord to bind it tightly, it was left as a simple ponytail to hang down to her shoulder blades.

And the whole time, Seren was getting a very, very bad feeling. There was no good reason she could possibly think of for Danarius to have ordered this. Unless he'd suffered a massive blow to the head, and suddenly desired to treat her like royalty—and she didn't think he had—this is probably going to end poorly.

When the women were satisfied, one scurried away, returning with a pile of clothing. Seren picked it up, piece by piece, and examined it. At was all black leather, buttery soft and shimmering faintly in the light. She let out a low whistle. Things like this had to be expensive, to be this luxurious yet function.

Seren slipped on the clean pair of smalls and then the leather breeches. They clung to her legs like a second skin, but had enough give and stretch to let her move easily. The top was a sort of vest that laced together tightly. It also fit like a second skin, and left her arms as well as her chest and inner slopes of her breasts—which now seemed much fuller than before—exposed. A pair of black knee boots completed the outfit.

When she was done dressing, the women left and the guards escorted her up to main level of the mansion. There, Danarius waited for her, smiling faintly. Behind his right shoulder stood Fenris, and her breath caught at the site of him.

He was dressed very similar to her, but with ebony enameled armor over his leathers, a much more impressive version of the outfit he wore every day. His skin also had the faint sheen of oil and his hair looked incredibly shiny and soft. Seren had always thought him attractive, but at that moment he was positively delicious. And she would have smiled if he hadn't seen two things.

His eyes. Filled with barely contained rage, he met her gaze almost defiantly. She blinked, averting her eyes from his anger she saw in his face. And that was when she saw the collar. Black, like his armor, and flush with the skin of his throat. Realization hit her and she tore her attention back to Danarius.

"…clean up very nicely, yes. You see, I'm having a small gathering tonight, and everyone is always so interested in my experiments, that I thought I'd give them a little taste. And you are almost perfect. You need just one more little thing."

From somewhere within his voluminous robes, Danarius withdrew a second collar. Seren took a step back, shaking her head, feeling the ponytail sway. "No," she said, backing up another step before one of the guards grabbed her and halted her motion.

"Fenris," Danarius said calmly, holding out the collar as his bodyguard came forward to take it and step toward Seren.

"No!" she cried, and twisted, fighting the hold of the first guard, and then the second. She fought like a wildcat, kicking and throwing elbows in a desperate attempt to get free. A third set of hands grabbed her—Fenris—and together, the combined muscle mass of the men was enough to bear her to the ground. A knee pressed into her back, and a dark form bent over her.

"Be still," Fenris whispered against her ear as he pressed her down into the hard marble floor. "There's no help for it. Be still, Hawke."

The collar closed around her neck and she whimpered as she felt him buckle it. The guard let go cautiously, allowing Fenris to pull her to her feet.

"Perfect," Danarius murmured. "Simply perfect."

From another concealed pocket, he withdrew two thin leashes made of the same black leather. These were fastened to small rings on the front of their collars. Next to her, Fenris trembled minutely when his was attached, though his face remained carefully blank.

Danarius gave each leash a tug, and satisfied, wrapped the loose ends around his wrist to lead them like a pair of trained dogs. They were taken to a large hall where Danarius guided them onto a dais which held a throne like chair, and wrapped each leash around an arm of the chair. There they stood, one on each side, as Danarius's guests began to arrive.

The magister showed them off to each guest, allowing the other magisters to poke and prod—which they did, frequently.

Seren tried to remain impassive, tried to make herself as blank and still as Fenris appeared to be. But she couldn't help the shameful prick of tears she had to blink back repeatedly.

"Why?" she whispered to Fenris when they were left alone for awhile and all the guests were occupied with something else.

"Because he can," Fenris murmured back.

Clenching her jaw and pressing her lips together to keep them from quivering, she wondered for the first time if all of this was worth it. This degradation, to be displayed and fondled as one would a piece of furniture…. It was too much. It was wrong and humiliating to every level of her being. She'd rather be stripped naked and thrown before a crowd to be jeered at rather than dressed up and turned into a _thing_. Unlike every other time before, thoughts of saving her family couldn't cut through the bleakness and despair she felt, the utter loss of self. And if not for her family, she would choose death over _this_ every time.

"Do not dwell on it." Fenris's quiet words just barely drifted across the couple of feet that separated them.

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw his fingers twitch. "Take your mind elsewhere," he replied. "Imagine what you must to survive it."

Seren gave the tiniest nod of acknowledgement, wondering how many times Fenris had done this himself. Obedient he might be, but there was pride in him. Buried deep perhaps, but there nonetheless, and Seren could not help but mourn privately for the both of them.

Carefully, she let the noise of the room flow over her and turned her mind back to memories of Lothering. It wasn't perfect. She couldn't close her eyes to sights before her or her ears the sounds of the magisters' revel. But it helped. And as she fled into the safety of her own mind, she wondered what Fenris thought of to escape.

But she did not ask, and they did not speak again for the rest of the night.


	8. Chapter 8

Fenris pondered this…_thing_ between him and Hawke. It could be called a relationship of sorts, though his mind shied away from the word. They weren't friends, at least not in the way he'd observed other slaves behaving, but there was an…understanding between the two of them.

Though it was dangerous, he found himself looking forward to their training sessions. Not for the challenge she provided—and he had to admit that she was improving, their bouts longer and requiring more effort for him to overwhelm her—but because of how she acted around him. The way she listened to instruction, the respect she gave his prowess was difficult to ignore or forget. As were the continuing lessons in reading, snatched and stolen from rest breaks and late at night in the baths.

As he learned to read—now able to understand words here and there on the spines and covers of some books, or from letters left out on desks—so did she learn to discipline herself, to conduct herself properly and do what was expected without being told. Her reward was a slight measure of freedom, able to go from the training yards to the bath chamber and kitchen after her training for the day had ended. It was a cruelty disguised as kindness, allowing her a meaningless measure of freedom while at the same time subtly forcing her to play a part in her own captivity.

The result was that Fenris found himself conflicted. Not about what to do, because truly there was only one thing he could do—obey Danarius's orders—but how he felt about the situation. On one hand, he regretted that Hawke had had her freedom ripped away, and had a little more of herself taken with each passing day. But on the other, he didn't want her to leave. It was hypocritical and selfish of him to think that, but he couldn't help himself.

And in the end, it wouldn't matter. So he forced his thoughts away and concentrated on taking what little enjoyment he could from his lot.

* * *

><p>Danarius had hosted a small gathering of magisters that afternoon, so Fenris's current training of Hawke had been disrupted so that he could serve the wine to the mages who would be drinking, and stand as sentinel to Danarius—a visible reminder to all present of just how much power the magister wielded.<p>

As he stood, allowing the conversation to flow around him—listening more to tone and cadence that might signal an attack than the actual words themselves—he found himself chafing and impatient with the unexpected change to his routine. He would much rather be outside, in the sun with Hawke and practicing the deadly steps of an art as old as Thedas, than be inside, puppet for these monsters that wore the faces of men.

But such thoughts were dangerous, both if they were ever found out and if they caused him to slip up. So he stilled himself inside, banishing the thoughts as if they had never been, and settling into the emptiness that he filled himself with as much as possible. The hours wore on as Fenris stood there perfectly still and straight, moving only to refill a glass when he noticed it was nearly empty. Maker forbear he commit the dire sin of allowing a glass to run dry. As always, he ignored the speculative looks from the older magisters and the fearful ones from the younger.

The magisters chatted idly, false cheeriness and humor coloring every word, eating rare, chilled fruits, until their business of maintaining the social pecking order was finished. Fenris followed his master as Danarius bid his guests goodbye. Once the last one had departed, and a slave had shut the heavy door, Danarius cast a speculative look at the sky through an archway.

Pursing his lips, he addressed Fenris without turning to look at him. "I am going to retire to my laboratory for the evening. You may get your dinner and then retire to your room."

Fenris bowed as Danarius swept away without a backward glance, and hurried to the kitchens, glad to be done for the day and out of the magister's presence, even if he'd been ordered to confine himself to his room.

Mera looked up as he entered the kitchens, nodded, and filled a bowl with stew from the large pot that hung over the hearth. He took it from her, murmuring his thanks, and tore a heel from one of the loaves of bread sitting on the counter. It was past time when most of the slaves had eaten, so Fenris found himself alone as he set his bowl on a table and slid onto a bench. He liked it that way, the solitude preferable to the awkward and fearful silences of the other slaves. Stripping off his gauntlets, he laid them on the bench beside him and picked up his spoon.

The slight hitch in Mera's breathing warned him a half second before he sensed Hadriana enter the kitchens. He carefully set down the spoon he was about to use and stared straight ahead at the wall in front of him, stolidly awaiting what was to come.

"Has Danarius finished with you tonight, little wolf?"

He swallowed before answering, but the words still tasted like ash in his mouth. After all, not showing what he felt was not the same as not feeling it.

"Yes, Mistress."

She walked closer to the table. "And now you're free for the night? Told to get your meal and go to bed like a good little pet?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Now she stood barely more than a foot in from of him, her hip almost brushing the edge of the table. As he continued to stare at the wall, he saw her arm come across his vision. Her long pale fingers came to rest almost delicately on the edge of his bowl, and he knew what was coming next. Hadriana slid the bowl carefully across to the edge of the table, and then after pausing just as it came to the edge, pushed it over. The bowl fell and landed with a clatter, stew spilling out over the stones of the floor.

"Oh, Fenris, you've spilled your dinner! How clumsy of you!"

At that comment, filled with false, breathless surprise, he looked up at her face. Hadriana smiled widely at him, blue eyes colder than any ice spell sparkling with malice and cruelty.

"I think you should clean up your mess, don't you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

He stood, reaching for one of Mera's towels within reach, but Hadriana tutted disapprovingly. "Oh, no, no. With your _hands_, little wolf. A slave shouldn't be afraid to get his hands dirty. And besides, we don't want to waste the food that Danarius has so thoughtfully provided, now do we?"

Fenris was so filled with hate and rage that he almost lashed out. At that moment, he hated Hadriana more than Danarius. His master was the one who inflicted the most pain, who took the bulk of his humanity from him, who made him a pet and not a man. But it was his master's apprentice that went one step further, who caused just that extra bit of pain that made it too hard to bear, who stripped the last of his humanity from him, who turned him from a pet to a beast.

There was so much pleasure in her features that he wanted nothing more than to use his abilities to rip the heart out of her chest. But he knew that if he did that, he would not long survive Hadriana. As precious as Danarius found him, it was only his markings and abilities that the magister valued. If he were to kill without Danarius's command, and more importantly, kill someone who has been given power over him, Fenris knew that his own death would be far longer and far more painful than anything he could imagine.

And Hadriana knew it, too.

So he knelt at her feet, reaching out to straighten the bowl, and then using both hands to scoop what he could of the thick stew back into it. He didn't rise or look up from his work until all that was left was the gravy. And when he was done, he merely straightened, staring blankly at Hadriana's robe-covered waist.

"Acceptable," Hadriana said brightly. "But the floor is still so dirty. Perhaps the little wolf should lick the floor clean, hmm?"

Defeat took him them, his shoulders slumping. There were times when he could fight, when he could resist and endure whatever humiliation Hadriana put him through. But she was in one of her truly evil moods, and he knew he would probably end the night screaming and writhing on the floor. If he resisted, she would only torment him longer. As much as he hated himself for doing it, it was best to give in now and get it over with.

He was just lowering himself to the floor when a new voice shattered the terrible, waiting silence in the kitchen.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Hawke.

Fenris started in disbelief, head snapping up to see the slave standing in the doorway, staring aghast at the scene before her. What was she doing? She should know better than to speak that way to Hadriana.

Hadriana turned slowly to face Hawke. "Well, well, well," she drawled. "So the little bird comes to rescue the little wolf."

"Rescue, my ass!" Hawke snapped as Hadriana started toward her with a slow, predatory walk. "I wouldn't treat a dog the way you treat him. You're insane."

"What I am and what I do is none of your concern. You are a slave, and I your mistress, a fact you seem sorely in need of reminding. Luckily, I don't mind providing such lessons to stupid slaves like you. I am going to clip your wings, little bird, and you will never dare defy me again."

To Fenris's utter shock, and most certainly Hadriana's even greater one, Hawke just nodded, an insolent grin tugging up the corner of her mouth. "That may be. But first, I'm going to break your face."

Fenris doubted Hadriana had ever had any slave defy her so openly or attempt to strike her, so she was totally unprepared for the fist that came arcing in from the side to land squarely in her face. There was a sickening snap and a scream as Hadriana stumbled away from Hawke, blood streaming from her nose and filling her mouth.

For just a second, Fenris's and Hawke's eyes met. The normally bright blue eyes, so similar and yet so different from Hadriana's, were dark, a terrible wisdom in them as she held his gaze. She knew what was going to happen to her—or thought she knew—as soon as she stepped in, and yet she had done it away.

He looked away, nausea roiling in his gut. Such a stupid, pointless gesture, one that no one else in the estate would ever have offered her. So, so stupid.

"You bitch!" Hadriana shrieked, and Fenris felt the pull of magic against the lyrium in his flesh as Hadriana tore open the Veil.

Then it was Hawke screaming, pinned to the floor as lighting arced over her body. Fenris kept his head turned away and closed his eyes as the scent of burning flesh began to creep into his nostrils. He was suddenly very, very glad he hadn't managed to eat anything before Hadriana showed up.

The magic faded, and then stopped. He could hear Hadriana's ragged breathing, and Hawke keening in between sobbing breaths. Guards had come running when the screaming began, and Hadriana snapped at them to pick that filth up off the floor and to follow her. There was the sound of fading footsteps, and then doors slamming.

Fenris stayed where he was for a long time. Finally he sensed someone in front of him. He opened his eyes to see Mera crouched in front of him, brown eyes dark in her ashen face. Her hand hovered halfway to him, clearly wanting to get his attention, but too afraid to actually touch him.

"You should go," she whispered hoarsely.

He nodded and pushed himself to his feet, Mera a second behind him. The cook tried to give him some bread, but he waved her away. He couldn't eat, not now. He might be hungry in the morning, but all he wanted right now was to go to his cell and forget what had just happened. He did take the worn towel she held out and wiped his hands, gathering his gauntlets when he was done.

"Fenris?" Mera called softly as he neared the doorway. He turned to look back at her. "Why did she do it?"

All he could do was shake his head. "I don't know."

* * *

><p>He didn't see Hawke again until a week had passed.<p>

In truth, given Danarius's foul mood, and Hadriana's infrequent appearances, he hadn't thought to ever see her again. Slaves had been killed for offenses far less grave, and Hawke's assault on Hadriana wouldn't be forgiven by any magister. He'd expected to see her corpse carried out one day, either drained of blood or mangled beyond recognition. So when he passed by her cell to see the door locked and her sitting on the pallet, hands set limply in her lap and her head bowed, he'd been shocked.

And then she looked up, eyes dark and her expression brittle, and the shock had turned to anger. It had been swirling inside of him since Hadriana had taken her, formless and undirected, eating away at him like acid. He was so _angry_ at her. Angry at what she had done, angry at her absence, angry at the way he felt like it was his fault and that he owed her.

Fenris stepped up to the bars, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists at his sides. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, Fenris unable to speak yet and Hawke waiting for him to find the words.

Finally he stepped right up to the bars, grasping them tightly. "I did not want you to do that."

A small nod acknowledged his words. "Fair enough."

"I did not ask you do that."

Hawke smiled, small and sad. "I know."

"I will not thank you."

"I know."

How could she sit there so calmly? He tightened his grip, hearing his gauntlets scrape over the bars. "I will not return the favor."

"I don't expect you to."

Damn her. _Damn her!_ Fenris released the bars suddenly, whirling away to stalk down the hall, the rage inside of him still building, still growing. He made it perhaps ten paces before he turned once more, storming back to the cell and slamming his fists so hard against the bars that he felt the impact shiver up his arms, saw Hawke flinch from the sudden violence.

"Why?!" he cried. "Tell me why!"

Hawke just stared at him silently until she got to her feet, anger showing in the tense, drawn lines of her mouth and brow. And in them, Fenris could see the Hawke he'd trained and come to know. She stepped up the bars, shaking her head.

"No, you tell me why," she said. "You tell me why you're still here, why you let them do that to you."

Her angry demand took him by surprise and he was rattled for a moment before gathering himself. "I am a slave," he hissed. "I don't—"

"Bullshit! Don't you dare feed me that line of crap! Don't you dare!" Her eyes glittered, bright, but with what, Fenris wasn't certain.

"You have power that most people would kill for," she continued. "I've seen you do things that I didn't think were possible. You could leave here and no one would be able to stop you. But you don't. You just stand there and take it. You never defy them or make a single bid for freedom. So you tell me why you let them torture you like that. Why? Why do you let them abuse and humiliate you?"

She was shaking. They were so close that he could see it clearly. But what could he say? She didn't understand, could never understand. There was _nothing_ for him beyond these walls—no life, no purpose, no hope.

"You don't understand."

"You're right. I don't. Because if I were you, if I had one fraction of the power you had, I'd be gone."

"You'd never make it."

"I'd die trying."

That, he believed. Hawke would beat herself against the bars of her cage until her wings were broken. She might have been more docile lately, but she would never truly submit. Fenris let his anger slip away, at least for now. What was the use of being angry at her _now_?

"Besides," she added, a quick grin with no mirth tugging up the corners of her mouth, "it's not like it matters anyway."

"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

"Doesn't it strike you as odd that I look all right? Believe me, it wasn't for Hadriana's lack of trying. No, Danarius had her fix me up because he wants to make an example of me."

Fenris's mouth went dry. An example? He remembered the "examples" Danarius had made in the past. No one ever survived them and their dying wasn't easy. Hawke wasn't going to survive this after all, and looking at her face, she knew it. His gut churned uneasily. She didn't deserve that. Maybe according to magisters she did, but not by any code people _should_ live by.

And he could do nothing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, not knowing what else to say.

"Me, too." She looked away, took a deep breath, and then met his eyes again, her own gaze steely and resolved. "But I'd do it again."

There was nothing to say to that. How do you respond when someone tells you that they're willing to _die_ for you? Not that Fenris thought that's exactly what she meant, but _he_ was the one she stepped in to save.

"You shouldn't have done it," he said heavily. "It won't matter to them. It won't change anything."

Hawke leaned forward, resting her head against the bars. "I know," she said, her voice raw, "but I couldn't stand there and do nothing." She drew a deep, shaky breath. "I think you'd better go."

Fenris let go of the bars, fingers aching slightly with both the force he'd struck the bars with and how tightly he'd gripped them. He stepped back, looked at her for a moment longer and then turned away. Nausea still curdled his stomach as he went, but there was nothing to be done for it, nothing to be done for her. She'd probably be dead in a day, two at the most. It was best to cut his losses now.

* * *

><p>Seren stood at the bars long after the sound of Fenris's footsteps had faded before she once again collapsed upon her pallet. What she'd said to Fenris had been true. She'd known what would likely happen when she intervened, but she couldn't stop herself. Just as she knew that no one else here would do the same for her. Her only consolation was that she'd acted true to herself. Danarius would take her life, but not her soul.<p>

But it was cold comfort.

And she was still terrified.

She buried her face in her hands, the composure she'd held in front of Fenris falling away, and gritted her teeth against the urge to shriek with the fear consuming her. She didn't want to die, she wanted live. She wanted to live so much that she was near babbling with panic. Talking with Fenris, she'd briefly considered asking him to kill her, both to just get it over with and avoid the agony she knew was coming. But even if he agreed, it would only lead to more trouble for him, and after spending a week under Hadriana's tender mercies, she had no desire to do that.

All that was left to do was wait now, the too few hours left to her crawling by. No one else came by, not that she expected them to. No food, no water, not even any taunts and jeers—which at this point she might well have welcomed, if only to break the monotony.

Surprisingly, she slept, and was angry at herself when she jerked awake in the dim, predawn light A handful of hours left and she'd wasted them sleeping. Well, at least she felt calmer now, the terror having faded to a sense of numbness. She wondered if this was what despair felt like, finally giving up and admitting there was no way out. That she was trapped, cornered and there was nothing she could do to prevent her approaching doom. Her eyes burned and watered, but she refused to let the tears fall. If she started, she didn't think she would be able to stop.

Seren wasn't normally the praying sort. The mysteries of the Maker and Fade and all the possibilities of what came after had never really interested her. She supposed if she were ever going to pray, now would be the time, but she felt no desire to offer pleas to the unhearing ears of an uncaring and distant god. Instead, she reached out for the only person she'd ever been able to count on no matter what.

"Da," she whispered, "if you can hear me, be there for me, okay? I'm so scared. I don't want to be alone. And if Mum and Carver and Bethy are there, bring them too. I just want to see you again. I'm sorry I let you down, please don't be mad at me. I tried, I really did." She stopped, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat. "I just want to go home."

* * *

><p>The guards came for her shortly after dawn. There were three, one that unlocked the door and followed behind and two that manhandled her out of the cell and outside, even though she offered no resistance. She was determined to keep as much pride as she could, though it won't be for long, but faltered slightly when she saw the dozens of people lined up outside.<p>

They were mostly slaves, their clothing and demeanor instantly defining them as such, but there were also a few high-ranked servants and a good portion of the guard. Danarius sat in an almost throne like chair, Hadriana at his side. Both smiled cruelly when they saw her, and Seren swallowed back the instinctual bite of fear.

Fenris stood behind Danarius's shoulder, hands clasped behind his back and staring straight ahead. He didn't move a muscle as she approached the whipping post, but when she looked over, his eyes were locked on hers. He looked…unhappy, if by simple virtue of the few small stress lines slipping through his normally impassive mask.

Well, at least _one_ person might miss her when she was gone.

Her attention was quickly drawn back to the situation at hand when she was tied to the post with long, leather straps. She frowned at the amount of slack left to her. Unlike the previous two times, she wasn't bound tightly to the post.

Seren wasn't given long to ponder that change before Sergius cut off her clothes, all of them, taking the liberty to grope her a few times before he stepped back. Behind her came the slither and creak of the slave master readying his whip, and Seren took a deep breath, looked out over the assembled crowd, and let her contempt for them show in the curl of her lips. She had no sympathy for them, not in this moment. Let them look and judge her the fool.

In death, she would be freer than any of them in life.

_Da, please be there._

She maintained her sneer through the first few strokes, and then all of her energy was focused into keeping her jaw clenched and not screaming. The force of the blows drove her forward, so that by the time the first few cries were forced from her, she was gripping the post tightly, her forehead pressed hard against the worn wood.

There was no count, no endpoint to this. Just pain, endless, on-going pain, searing lines of fire from her shoulders to the top of her buttocks. Tears had wet her cheeks and her throat was sore by the time her legs gave out and she fell hard to her knees. That was when she realized what the slack in the leather was for, as her arms were held over her head, pulled tight and straining.

The yard was silent, save for the crack of the whip and her own screams and panting breaths. The pain was all encompassing, greater than anything she'd ever experienced, and she would have done anything to end it. She could feel blood as it ran down her back freely. Seren wanted to pass out, prayed for the relief of oblivion, but she remained terribly, horribly conscious.

At some point, the whip ceased to hurt. Oh, she could feel the impacts of it as Sergius continued, but they were dull, distant. Her head was pressed between her upper arms, but she couldn't see the post before her or the ground below her, and she didn't know if it was because her eyes were closed or if she could no longer see. It was also blessedly silent, and something within her let go as she felt her thoughts grow hazy and dim.

Her last thoughts were of a simple house, the smell of rain and green, growing things, the bark of a dog, and the distant laughter of well-loved voices.

* * *

><p>When Hawke fell silent and still, Danarius raised a hand. Sergius stopped, letting the blood-soaked whip fall to the ground and walked over to her unmoving form. The slave master bent over her for a brief moment and then touched his hand to the side of her neck. Frowning, he stepped back and looked at Danarius. "She still lives. Shall I continue?"<p>

"No," Danarius commanded. "Leave her as a lesson to the others." Then he rose, Hadriana following him a moment later, striding back into the house. Sergius coiled his whip, scattered the servants back to their duties with a harsh shout, and left the yard.

Fenris hesitated a few moments longer, looking at Hawke, the ruin of her back, the streaks of blood and stained earth around her. Still alive. Even in this, she didn't have the good sense to stop fighting and let go. Stubborn, stubborn woman.

But she was unconscious, which was perhaps the greatest mercy she could be given now. Her suffering was nearly over. Just a little longer and she would be free, if not in the way she wanted. In a way, Fenris was oddly envious of her. Not for the pain and mutilation she'd endured, but because of how she'd managed to worm her way out of Danarius's grasp in a way he'd never had the courage for.

"Fenris!" Danarius snapped over his shoulder.

"Coming, Master," Fenris said hastily, moving quickly to catch up to the magister. He thought about sparing one last glance over his shoulder, but didn't. The only one it would matter to was himself, and he didn't deserve it.

However, as the day passed, Fenris found himself wandering past the windows and archways that overlook the yard. Sergius checked on her every so often, each time loudly complaining that the slave didn't have the good grace to just up and die already. Fenris didn't know why, but he felt relieved each time Sergius's voice rose into the air. He knew it couldn't last, that eventually Sergius would cackle with laughter instead of curse with frustration.

He even went so far as to take tasks that took him past the yard. Not quite invented errands, but ones that could have easily been seen to by someone else. As he passed by Hawke, he could see how the unforgiving Tevinter sun had turned her pale skin red, how flies swarmed at the raw mess of her back. He saw, once or twice, a twitch of muscle, but no further movement than that.

He could not help her.

He had to try.

Danarius was in his study, writing correspondence on creamy sheets of parchment. Fenris stands silently, waiting for his master to acknowledge him. If he dared to interrupt Danarius, the tenuous ideas of his plan will never have a chance to work.

Finally, Danarius asked in a bored sounding voice, "What is it?"

"I was merely wondering, Master, do you intend for Hawke to die?"

"That is a stupid question, my little wolf. It's not less than she deserves."

Fenris nodded, and waited. The scratching of the quill slowed and then stopped, and Danarius finally lifted his head to look at his bodyguard with narrowed eyes.

"I wonder at this sudden question, Fenris. Tell me, have you grown attached to my little hawk? Do you seek to save her life?"

"No." Fenris's answer is quick, firm and decisive, as it must be. "I was only thinking of a benefit to you, Master."

Danarius set his quill down carefully and leaned back in his chair. He gestured imperiously at Fenris. "Go on."

Inside, Fenris stilled himself, as he did before battle. Every stray thought and emotion locked tightly away so that nothing could betray him. "You have spoken often of the ritual requiring someone of strong constitution, how very unlikely it is that even the strongest of fighters will survive. If Hawke survives this, would that not mean she also has a good chance of surviving the ritual?"

His master considered this for several moments, his longer fingers drumming idly upon the desk. "And you think I could trust her enough to guard me after what she's done? Why would she submit now if she hasn't yet?"

Fenris dared enough to meet Danarius's cool gray eyes. "She will not remember," he said, speaking what Danarius already knew. "She will be yours to mold as you please. She will not remember this defiance and will live only to serve you."

He paused for a moment, then added, "As I do."

Danarius was silent for a long, long time. Long enough that Fenris began to think that his plan had failed utterly, and that Danarius was instead devising new ways to torment him rather than ponder what Fenris had said.

"When the sun sets," he said slowly, "you may cut her down. If she survives until morning, then we will see. I have already invested a significant sum of money in her, and I would like to recoup it, if possible."

Fenris opened his mouth, but Danarius held up a hand, forestalling him. "Do not thank me just yet. Know this, my pet, if she fails me, then you will suffer right along with her."

Nodding, Fenris bowed deeply. "Yes, Master, I understand."

"Then go. I have more important work to attend to."

Fenris bowed and backed his way out of the room, feeling strangely lightheaded once he'd shut the door behind him. He glanced through a window, judging how many hours until sunset by the position of the sun in the sky. Still several hours yet to go.

_Hold on, Hawke_, he thought. _Just a little longer._

* * *

><p>By the time the last arc of the sun dipped below the horizon, Fenris was convinced he would find a corpse tied to the post outside. He held that thought firmly in his head so that he wouldn't be disappointed when he did, and walked calmly to the yard. There must be no sign that he was anxious for this.<p>

So when he arrived, knife in hand to cut the thongs that bit deeply into blood-streaked wrists, he was shocked to see that Hawke still breathed. Shallow, pained, labored breaths, but breaths all the same. He looked at the leather nearly embedded in her flesh, and chose to cut the straps midway. He could work on removing the rest once she was inside.

With the straps no longer supporting her weight, she sagged to the ground, and he did his best to do it gently. There was no way he could carry her without causing her pain, but as long as Hawke remained unconscious, it shouldn't be too bad. He lifted her up, avoiding the open wounds of her back and blisters already forming on the burned flesh of her exposed shoulders and arms, and draped her arms over his shoulders, her chest pressed to his, and his hands cradled under her thighs. Carefully—or as carefully as he could manage—he walked into the mansion. He could have taken Hawke back to her cell, _should_ have taken her back to her cell, but he didn't. Instead he turned, walking down the hall to where his own room was, and laid her gently on the bed.

Once she was down, he got his first good look at the damage. And swallowed, willing his gorge not to rise. She was dying. Without the healing in the morning—if she even survived that long—there was no hope. And without help now, he doubted she would make it through the night. He turned quickly on his heel, hurrying to the kitchens where earlier he'd made a few preparations. Mera looked up as he entered and nodded to the side where two buckets of clean, boiled water waited. He lifted them easily and straightened to see the old cook holding a large basket over one arm. He raised a brow in question.

"I have some other things you'll need," she said quietly. "Go, I'll follow you."

Fenris nodded and led the way. He ignored the pained, distressed sound Mera made when she saw Hawke, and took the basket. "Show me," he said. The old elf tore eyes away, wiping her mouth and nodded. She added a packet of dried elfroot to one of the buckets, and stirred it with a length of smooth wood.

"Wash her wounds as best you can with this. There are plenty of clean linens in the basket, but if you need more, come get some." She removed an earthenware flask. "There's more elfroot in here, and a few other things. It'll help with the pain, so try to get as much down her throat as you can, and then water after that."

"Should I bind her wounds?"

Mera looked at Hawke critically. "No. It wouldn't do any good. Just keep them as clean as you can."

Fenris nodded. "Thank you," he said haltingly, the words foreign on his tongue for the fact that he actually meant them.

The cook nodded, and then leaned over and placed a gentle, motherly hand on Hawke's head. "Maker have mercy on you, child." Then she rose, and hurried back to the safety of her kitchen.

Alone again with his unconscious charge, Fenris stripped his gauntlets off, removed his armor and set it off to the side, and then peeled off the leather tunic and breeches he wore. He debated the loose linen shirt, and then took that off as well, leaving him clad in only thin, linen pants. This was going to be messy work, and he did not have so many clothes that he could afford to ruin these.

He began by carefully working the leather from around her wrists, and then turned his attention to her back, using a dipper he found in the basket to rinse Hawke's torn back with the elfroot mixture. As the water began to wash away the dirt and dried blood, Hawke moaned low in her throat and he stopped. She could still feel what he was doing, and though it was for her benefit, he couldn't bring himself to continue. Instead, he set the dipper down and reached for the flask. After working the cork out, he lifted her head a bit and poured a thin trickle between her slack lips.

"Drink," he murmured, though it was unlikely she could hear him. He tilted the flask a bit more before setting it down and holding her mouth closed, massaging her throat so that she'd swallow. Mouthful by mouthful, he got most of the liquid into her. Some was lost down her chin and neck, but Fenris was satisfied that she'd drank enough.

After waiting a bit longer, he tried rinsing her back again. This time there were no pained cries, and he worked with more confidence. Her hair was matted into some of the wounds, and as he cleaned each area, he gently lifted it free and set it over her shoulder. He worked for a long time, long enough for night to truly fall and the moon to rise, stars glittering in the black sky. From time to time, he stopped to pour some more water down Hawke's throat and to dab at her cracked and bleeding lips with a damp cloth. By the time he finished—and he regretted that he couldn't do anything for the deep, angry sunburn and the blisters—his pants were soaked with blood and water.

Grimacing, he peeled them off, wiping his legs with a damp rag, and rummaged in his small open chest for another pair. Then he settled against the wall to wait.

For hours, Hawke slept, and it was only by the very faint rise and fall of her back, and the feel of her breath against his fingers when he gave her water, that Fenris could tell she still lived. But the draught Mera had prepared had to wear off at some point, and he startled from his silent vigil at the first small sound of pain Hawke made.

Fenris knelt by his bed to see that she was awake, barely. The one eye he could see was half-open, but distant, the normally keen blue gaze hazy and confused. He brought one hand up to carefully move aside some strands of hair so that they wouldn't fall into her eye, and that's when he felt the unnatural heat coming off her skin. He cursed silently. He had expected this, but had hoped it wouldn't strike so soon. It was one more hurdle she didn't need.

Grimly, he wet a cloth and dabbed at what exposed skin he could. There was nothing he could do to break the fever, but he didn't need to. He just needed to help her hold onto what strength she had left until morning.

He worked silently, appreciating the quiet with an awake Hawke, for once. But the longer it dragged out, the more unnerved he became. This much stillness was unnatural, and awkward. As Fenris laid a soaked cloth on her head and let it sit for a few moments, he found himself wanting to fill the empty space with words of his own.

"You're wrong, you know," he said quietly. "I dreamed of freedom once. But like all dreams, it ended."

Hawke continued to lie still, but he thought he heard her breath catch, as if under the injury and illness, some part of her was still aware.

"It was in Seheron," he continued, wringing out the cloth a bit and blotting her lips. "Just about four years ago now. Tevinter and the qunari have fought over the island for well over a hundred years, and Danarius was among a group of magisters who had gone to put the 'horned beasts' in their places."

Fenris pressed the back of his hand against her cheek. Still too hot. His lips thinned in a grim line and he went back to work, glancing out his tiny window at a sky that was yet far too dark.

"We were there for months, all wet heat and endless fighting. The magisters were too confident, and they did not discover a surprise attack from the qunari until it was too late. They were driven to the docks, fleeing on whatever ships could take then." A small smile tugged at his lips. "There was no room for slaves on the ships, not even one as valuable as I. Danarius was furious, enraged even, but he could do nothing.

"I, however, was lost. Without my master, I didn't know what to do. I had no purpose. I managed to get out of the city. Whatever my lot, I didn't want to die. I escaped with few injuries—the qunari didn't seem to care about me either way, and I ended up in the jungles."

He paused, remembering the wild exhilaration of flight, and then the panic and fear when he realized he was alone in a strange land, with no idea of what to do or how to survive.

"I wandered for days, catching rainwater and drinking that, but afraid to try eating any of the plants. I'd seen strong men die in sickness and agony from nothing more than a few berries. With no food, I wouldn't last long, and I began wondering if I should try very tiny amounts of things. That's when the Fog Warriors found me.

"They were…fighters? Rebels? Natives to the island, neither qunari or magisters, and they simply wanted their land and their lives, something neither side would let them have in peace. I expected them to slay me, but instead they brought be back to their camp. They tended my wounds, fed me, and…let me be."

Setting the cloth down on the edge of the bucket, he reached for another to dab at the wounds that wept the worst on her back.

"I was with them for months, and for the first time I felt…I don't know. They spoke _to_ me, not _at_ me. I worked, but it was because I chose to. There were no orders, no punishments for not doing something or doing it wrong. I could sleep without fear.

"They had their lives, and made me a part of it. They lived and laughed and loved, and it was like nothing I'd ever seen before. I wanted that for myself, so badly, but I was afraid because something like that wasn't for me."

He sat back on his heels, the cloth in his hand resting on her shoulder, forgotten for the moment.

"And I was right. Danarius came for me one day and it was like I'd never been gone. The Fog Warriors…they…_defended_ me. _Me_! They wouldn't let Danarius take me, and I…. It was in vain though. Danarius was a magister and he'd come with his soldiers. There was no way they could win.

"When he saw me, he didn't hesitate. He ordered me to kill them…and I did. There seemed to be no point to refusing. I'd tried to escape and failed. But there was one moment, at the end, when I stood among the bodies of those who had been the closest things to friends I had ever had, looking down at my hands, and I wondered if maybe I was wrong, if there was a way for me to be free.

"And then Danarius was there and I knew the truth. He would never let me go, never stop hunting me if I fled. And I refused to let others die for me that way again."

Fenris dropped the cloth to the floor and pressed a tired hand to his forehead. "You asked why I let them do what they do. It's because what happens to me doesn't matter. I will never be free of this, except in death, and better that I suffer their torments than one who cannot bear it."

Something brushed against the arm that rested on the bed, and he looked to see Hawke's fingers twitching, curling as if trying to grab something. He looked up, into the half of her face he could see, and her eye was narrowed with pain. It would have been far kinder not to save her, a better way to fulfill his debt to her than _this_. But then he would be alone, truly alone once more, and he was too selfish to let go of it that easily.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry I'm doing this to you, but I couldn't let you…. Not like this. If there was anything good in me, I shouldn't have saved you, not when there's no hope."

Hawke's eye slid shut, and Fenris saw her lips move faintly, but no sound emerged, and after a moment, her body slumped minutely as she fell asleep again. Fenris moved away from the bed, standing pressed into the corner with his arms folded. He shouldn't have said all that. It was his pain, not to be burdened on anyone else, and especially not a woman who had far too much sympathy for those who didn't deserve.

He held his vigil in the corner, watching as the sky slowly lightened. And eventually, in the hall, came the sound of footsteps. Danarius said nothing as he looked at the scene before him, and Fenris did his best to turn his blank expression into a sneer. "Too much work," muttered, cringing inwardly at Danarius's huff of laughter, and then again as two guards dragged her limp form from the bed and out of the room.

* * *

><p>Seren woke up.<p>

She stared at the scarred work table beneath her cheek, blinking in confusion, unable to comprehend. There were sounds around her, and she carefully pushed herself up slightly.

The first thing she saw was Danarius, and she couldn't help the instinctive flinch, or the ugly crawl of shame through her at his laugh. He regarded her for a long moment and Seren felt the way he considered her, as if weighing her worth.

"Get her some clothes," he said, without taking his eyes off her. "And then bring her to me. There is another matter we must attend to."

He left, and Seren turned her attention to the other figure standing in the room—Fenris. Hard and stern like always, but with an odd, drawn look to his face, and eyes ringed by the dark circles of fatigue.

"You?" she asked, even knowing that her healing could have been prompted by none other, not when Danarius and Hadriana had been so set on her death. Fenris nodded once, short and sharp. Letting out a ragged sigh, Seren pushed herself up, sore muscles protesting. She sat on the edge of the table, heedless of her nudity, looking up at the man and trying to figure why he did what he did. "You should have let me die," she said heavily.

Fenris looked away, mouth tightening, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Not like that." Then he turned and ducked from the room, returning moments later to awkwardly hold out a tunic and pair of pants to her.

She dragged them on slowly, noting the way Fenris kept his eyes averted, the way he refused to meet her gaze as he led her from the room on slow and unsteady feet.

They went not to Danarius's study, but what appeared to be a formal hall. The magister sat in an almost throne-like chair set on a dais, and he waited until his slaves were standing before him.

"I did not expect you to live," he said without preamble. "But you've surprised me, and thus proved my bodyguard shows exceptional judgment in knowing what's best for me."

He folded his hands calmly, elbows set on the arms of his chair. "I will be perfectly blunt with you—you should be dead. You deserve no less. The insolence you've shown and the insults you've given me demand it. _However_," the word was bitten off sharply, "you've shown a remarkable resilience which may yet serve my purposes. I will offer you one last opportunity to save your life and learn your place. Refuse and I shall have my little wolf present your heart to me."

There was a subtle flinch from the armored figure standing next to her, little more than the slightest contraction of muscles, and likely not even noticeable from where Danarius sat. But to Seren, who'd spent so much time around Fenris, who'd learned how very composed he was, it was more telling than an explosion of emotion from someone else. She wanted very badly to look at him, to see if she could decipher something in his face and eyes that might tell her _why_ this change had come over him.

Danarius continued. "Accept, learn your place, and I shall forget your prior indiscretions to give you one last chance."

Seren stared at the mage in dumbfounded disbelief. "Do you really think I would choose to stay here like a whipped dog?"

"What I think," Danarius said coolly, "is that you reject this most generous offer without regard for the other lives that depend on you."

She laughed, loud and hoarsely. "You're kidding, right? We both know there's no one here you can hold over my head."

"Oh, do we?" Trepidation skittered down Seren's spine at the smile that crossed Danarius's lips as he raised a hand to gesture.

Two guards ducking into a doorway set in one of the side walls to the hall. Seren kept her eyes fixed on the doorway, breathing quick and sharp, listening as the sound of footsteps grew louder.

_No_, she thought. _Please, no, don't let this be what I think it is. Please…._

Three figures were pushed through the door between the two guards, and cries of shock and disbelief echoed from both ends of the room as the strength left Seren's legs and she fell heavily to her knees.

It wasn't possible. Seren felt her mind start to unravel and grabbed desperately at the threads of her sanity. One of them she could have handled. Maybe two. But to see her family—Mother and Carver and Bethany—all here, all in the hands of this madman….

There was a broken, keening sound in her ears, and she barely recognized it as coming from her. She couldn't even find solace in the fact that they were all alive, not when they were _here_.

She wrenched her gaze back to Danarius, and couldn't even bring herself to hate him for the smug expression on his face. "Let them go," she pleaded. "Maker, please, I'll do anything you want, but let them go."

Off to the side, her family protested briefly before being silenced by the guards. Seren ignored them, ignored the sound a fist striking flesh, and kept her attention fixed on Danarius.

He chuckled, the sound almost fatherly if not for the undercurrent of malice. "Now, now, if I do that, what incentive would you have to behave yourself?"

Seren collapsed in on herself, knowing in that moment how completely trapped she was, how an animal must feel when it was caught in a trap and had exhausted itself trying to escape. "What do you want from me?" she asked dully.

"Oh, nothing much," Danarius replied cheerily. "I think knowing that they will suffer your punishments if you misbehave will keep you in line. And really, obedience is all I require of you right now. Continue to train and obey, and no harm shall befall them…at least not on your behalf."

"And then you'll let them go?"

"Why would I do that?"

She looked up at him helplessly, and he _laughed_, high and cruel and Seren had never before hated as much as she did in that moment.

"Allow me to offer you an incentive then. Survive. Survive your training to become my bodyguard and I will set them free. Fail, and they remain mine forever."

What choice was there? Seren nodded, defeated, slumped on the cold marble floor of a magister's hall.

Her family was hustled from the hall, back to wherever Danarius was keeping them, and a familiar gauntlet clad hand wrapped around her upper arm to pull her to her feet. She stumbled heavily against Fenris as he led her from the hall, heedless of the hard planes and sharp spikes of his arm.

"How?" she whispered once they were back in the lower levels. "How did he even know about them? The only one I've ever told was—"

She stopped abruptly, staring up at Fenris, shocked and horrified, remembering a night when the elf had tended her wounds and had spoken to her, drawing words and information from her.

"You!" she gasped, seeing the guilt rise in his eyes. "You told him! _You told him_!"

She wanted a denial so badly she could taste it.

None came.

"You bastard!" she shrieked, tearing her arm free of his grip.

"Hawke," he began, but Seren shook her head violently.

"Don't," she spat. "Don't speak to me. I have nothing to say to you and you don't have anything I want to hear." A bitter laugh followed those words. "I trusted you! Maker, I'm an idiot. And here I was, thinking that maybe you were a good person after all."

Fenris drew himself up straight, his arm falling to his side, his face once again the cool, still mask she knew so well. But his eyes, when he met her gaze, were very green and very sad. Seren clenched her jaw and forced herself to be hard. She would _not_ feel any sympathy for him, not now that she knew what he'd done.

"If it means anything," he said quietly, "I would not do it now."

"No, it doesn't mean anything! They're here, trapped with me, because of _you_! Because you're nothing more than some mindless animal who takes his beatings and comes crawling back on his belly for more!"

The words were meant to be cutting, to cut deep in the only way she had. But Fenris just nodded and turned away. "You need another day to recover. I will see you tomorrow morning."

And with that, he was gone, back straight and shoulders stiff, without a backward glance over his shoulder. And Seren, damn it all, felt the loss of his presence keenly. She made her way blindly back to her cell and threw herself down on the pallet. Curling up on her side, with her knees tucked to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around them, she allowed herself a few minutes to cry, for the catharsis if nothing else.

In the morning, she was going to have to begin the rest of her life, and looking at the sandstone walls and iron bars, she felt that deserved a few moments of weakness.


	9. Chapter 9

Life with a Hawke who was enraged at him, who didn't speak to him except when absolutely necessary, who wouldn't even look at him when she did, was strangely lonely.

Fenris hadn't realized how much he'd come to enjoy and rely on their verbal taunts, the reading lessons, the simple presence of someone who _understood_ until they were gone. It left him off-balance and irritable, and served as a reminder why he'd always been so careful to protect himself before. What he was feeling now was a gaping, glaring hole in his defenses, and he had to find a way to seal it up before it could be used against him.

It was harder than expected. A niggling sense of guilt kept eating at him each time he saw Hawke, each time he caught a glimpse of her family. No matter how much he knew otherwise, he couldn't erase the thought that it was his fault. And he couldn't even blame Hawke for blaming him. Had their positions been reversed, he thought it quite likely that'd he'd feel and react the same way. Her anger, in all its depth, was entirely justified.

Which was why he was completely shocked a week later when during a break, she dropped down beside him and said, "I owe you an apology."

Fenris eyed her askance, not sure he'd heard correctly. Or that he believed it. When he didn't respond, Hawke raked a frustrated hand through her hair and sighed, blue eyes flitting over to meet his for a brief moment. But in that moment he could read the sadness, the tiredness, the sincerity in their depths.

"I was angry," she said quietly. "Having my family here, to be used against me…." Her shoulders slumped. "Honestly, I don't know how it can get much worse. I was scared. I mean, balls, I'm _still_ scared. And mad and frustrated and…. I don't even know anymore. It felt unreal, like a nightmare I wanted to wake up from, except I knew I wasn't going to. So I lashed out, trying to blame someone for how wrong everything had gone."

"And I was at fault," Fenris said evenly.

"No!" Hawke's head came up quickly and she reached out, her hand closing over his arm. "No. Believe me, Fenris, I will give credit where it's due, but no matter the part you played in it, this is _not_ your fault. It was…unfair of me to try and blame you. You have no more choice in this situation than I do, and I know that had it not been for Danarius, you wouldn't have done it."

Then she looked away, chewing on a corner of her lip before meeting his gaze guiltily. "And…I said some truly unconscionable things, things that I _never_ should have said. And for that I really am sorry. I don't…." Her hand flexed on his arm, gripping tightly. "I don't really think those things. I want you to know that, even if you don't believe me."

Fenris stared at her, belatedly realizing that she was waiting for some acknowledgment of her words. He licked his lips, unsure of how to respond. He couldn't remember anyone ever offering a genuine apology for insulting him before, had never even needed or wanted one before.

"Apology…accepted," he said finally, and felt an odd lightness in his head when a smile lit her face.

"Wow, had I known it was that easy, I wouldn't have spent the last five days worrying about it," she grinned, and got to her feet, brushing her pants off. "Now…I think Aldric said something about you teaching us hand to hand combat?"

Understanding the peace offering in her words, Fenris got to his own feet easily. "Of a sort," he said carefully. You've…seen what I can do."

Hawke grimaced, and rubbed the spot over her heart. "And felt it, too," she muttered, and Fenris remembered how her fragile heart had fluttered when held in his hand, the memory making him feel vaguely ill.

"Yes. Well, after the…ritual, you'll have similar abilities. You must be taught how to use them as a weapon."

It was to Hawke's credit that she looked uncomfortable with that. But there was no help for it, and such unease would be rendered moot eventually, but…it was comforting to see.

"Come," he said, trying to project an air of confidence into his voice, as much reassurance as he could give her at the moment. "It likely sounds more difficult than it is." As Hawke fell into step beside him, listening attentively as he spoke quietly, things suddenly felt _right_ again, and Fenris found himself ignoring what the training really meant in favor of the simple comfort it offered.

* * *

><p>But even with them settling back into their routine, something still felt unsettled to Fenris.<p>

That sense of guilt, though lightened, didn't disappear completely. Despite what Hawke had said, Fenris knew that he probably could have returned to Danarius empty-handed and not suffered too much for it. That she had been nothing to him at the time didn't change the truth of what he felt now, and it felt wrong to bask in the glow of her easy demeanor. For the rest of the day, and into the next few, he held himself more stiffly than he had before.

Hawke, as observant as her namesake, noticed.

A small heel of bread bounced off his forehead one night while he stared down into his stew bowl. His head snapped up quickly to see Hawke giving him a wry little grin. "What was that for?" he asked, flicking the bread with his fingers and sending it skittering back across the tabletop toward her.

"Just trying to get your attention."

"Well, you have it."

She smiled again, this time wistfully. "You haven't actually forgiven me, have you?"

That surprised him. "What?"

"For what I said. You said "apology accepted," but you didn't mean it, did you?"

For a moment, he didn't understand what she meant. And then realization dawned. "Oh. No. That's…not it."

"No?" Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me."

Fenris frowned, looking back down into his bowl, poking at the lumps of vegetables and occasional bit of meat with his spoon. "You were angry," he explained. "I didn't blame you for what you said because it was true. I appreciated the gesture, though, and I meant what I said."

"Oh, Fenris," she sighed, and she sounded so _sad_. "If not that, then what? Something's bothering you."

He was silent for a long, long time. Finally, very quietly, he admitted, "I haven't forgiven myself."

The table rattled briefly as Hawke grabbed at it, as if she was going to push her seat away. But she stayed where she was, fingers drumming on the table. "I told you that it's not your fault."

"How you feel," he replied calmly, "does not change the truth of the matter. If not for my actions, your family might not be here."

Hawke visibly struggled to bite back her initial response, hands clenching in agitation. Then she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You need that, don't you?" she asked herself under her breath, brows furrowed.

She looked up, meeting his eyes steadily. "I forgive you." The words were quiet, but firm. "I forgave you awhile ago, and I should have told you. So if it helps to know…I forgive you."

A weight eased inside Fenris's chest. He could not accept that he was blameless in this, and Hawke brushing it aside hadn't helped. Fenris knew he'd wronged her, and her acknowledgment of it—and subsequent acceptance of his roundabout apology—righted the imbalance he'd felt.

"Thank you," he said, letting a corner of his mouth quirk up, and Hawke rolled her eyes, a huff of laughter escaping her parted lips.

"Stubborn," she muttered, but with good humor and turned her attention back to her meal.

"You're one to talk," he replied, and this time caught the crust of bread that sailed toward him, dunking it first into his stew and then his mouth while Hawke squawked in indignation and tried to swipe his bread to replace what she'd tossed away. After a minute of holding it beyond her reach, he tore his remaining piece in half, and extended one piece to her. She looked at it mock suspicion for a moment before snatching it out of his hand with a victorious smile, and Fenris smiled when she downed it in two quick bites.

When he went to bed that night, he slept well for the first time since Hawke's punishment.

* * *

><p>It was raining.<p>

Fenris muttered an oath as he stared out the window at the rain coming down. This was no brief, sudden storm that often rolled through Minrathous, lasting only long enough to break the heat and humidity and then ending to leave everything to dry in the returning sunlight. No, this was a true rainstorm, one that would last all day.

It also meant that the training he'd been planning on doing with Hawke was impossible. He could ask Danarius if they could use a small hall since the training yard was unusable, but…. No. The request would come with a price he was unwilling to pay, and he didn't think Hawke would care to pay it either. But he wasn't willing to let a day be wasted. So even if they couldn't train with weapons, they could still spar. Hawke's hand-to-hand fighting skills were coming along, but she still needed more practice. And there were places within the mansion where they could train that way without having to ask for permission.

Making his way silently toward Hawke's tiny cell, he mentally evaluated where the best place to spar would be. Probably the hall that ran along the back of the mansion. As Danarius didn't use it very often, and his guests even less so, there was plenty of room for them to move and few things that could become damaged should an accident happen.

"Haw—" He stopped abruptly as he turned into her room. Her empty room. She had a touch more freedom nowadays, ever since the debacle with Hadriana. Like all things, it was a test, to see if she would do something and earn her family punishment. And if she wasn't in her room, there were few places she could be. She'd probably gone to get something to eat, and he could only hope that she hadn't snuck into the library again. After the time Danarius had caught her, she'd vowed to simply not get caught again. With her family's wellbeing on the line, he didn't think she would risk it, but he watched her chafe against the restrictions. There was a slim chance that she was feeling reckless enough to risk it.

Deciding for now that, yes, she had to be in the kitchens, he walked through the halls swiftly. He'd almost passed the small inner courtyard before he noticed the figure standing in it, and when he did, it drew him up short.

Hawke stood in one of gardens found within the walls of Danarius's palace. She was far enough out that she wasn't protected by the covered walkway. Instead, she stood out on the smooth marble path, exposed to the rain. Her back was to him, arms hanging at her side and face turned up to the sky. It was obvious that she'd been there a while—her hair and clothes were soaked and plastered to her body, water dripping off her like it did the plants in the garden.

Seeing her like that, with her clothes turned nearly sheer by the water and clinging to her, made Fenris uncomfortably aware of how often of late he'd found himself looking at her. And far beyond what was required of him while he was instructing her. He always knew where she was, his eyes constantly flickering in her direction to check her location and what she was doing. In the baths, he would watch her as she bathed, aware that his reasons for doing so were not as honest as they should have been. His behavior disturbed him, but he couldn't stop himself. Fenris didn't know why he did it, just that he did, and it seemed a form of madness to him.

He must have made some sound or done something to alert her because she suddenly turned, looking back at him over her shoulder. Neither of them moved. Then Hawke held out a hand to him.

Before Hawke, Fenris had no memory of anyone ever wanting his presence for its own sake. To Danarius, he was a tool, something to be used. To Hadriana, he was a toy, something to be played with and broken for her own amusement, before putting him back together to return to his master. And to everyone else, he was a curiosity to be gawked at or a monstrosity to be feared.

But not with Hawke, and even after all this time he couldn't understand her. She should hate him, resent him for what he'd done to her, from the way he'd treated her in the beginning—harsh and cruel, believing that callus treatment was required to inure her against worse to come—to ignoring her later and then his betrayal that placed her family in grave danger. There was no logical reason for her to look at him like a…like a friend.

The others before her…. That's how it had been for them. Fenris had become the focus of their hate, even more so than Danarius, because until their end had come, he had been the one responsible for most of their pain. And it was easier to hate Fenris than Danarius, against whom they couldn't retaliate.

But she held nothing that happened against him, and instead she sought him out, deliberately choosing to be around him, to talk and joke with him, to teach him how to read. It was baffling.

At first, he'd been derisive, believing that such behavior could in no way be genuine, and that eventually she would see and correct her error, that she would come to view him the same way everyone else did. And part of him still believed it couldn't last, that the quieter, gentler times they shared, the lessons and laughter would someday come to an abrupt end as she placed her own well-being above…whatever it was that they shared. But she hadn't yet, and he found himself grateful. Hawke was the first to treat him like a person, and it made him equal parts glad and resentful.

And now, with her hand extended toward him in a silent, open offer, he found himself crossing the distance to her. He hesitated for a brief moment before taking her hand with his, movements stuttering with expectation of what he was used to touch on his naked skin feeling like. But he forced himself to fight through it, to touch his palm to hers and let his longer fingers curl over the back of her hand.

Her hand closed around his as he took the last step that brought him up to her side, and she turned her face back up to the sky, eyelids falling shut over bright blue eyes. For a long time, he just watched her, the rain running down her face and neck, droplets catching on her eyelashes and her tongue occasionally sneaking out to lick the moisture from her lips. Eventually, he mimicked her pose, turning his face skyward as the rain soaked through his own hair and clothes.

For how long they stood like that, he didn't know. But when he finally looked back over at Hawke, it was to find her watching him. It was odd to see her so quiet, to have that searching blue gaze focused on him in a way that had nothing to do with sparring sessions.

She turned to face him, slowly, keeping their hands still clasped together, and without thinking he copied the motion so that they faced each other. With a short step, she closed the slight gap between them, so close they were almost touching. Fenris tensed faintly, a reaction he could not still when someone was in such close proximity and he was vulnerable.

Her free hand rose and hovered a scant inch from his cheek. Fenris tracked the movement with his eyes, waiting to see what she would do. Slowly, oh so slowly, Hawke laid her palm against his cheek. A warning screamed in his mind. For all the time they spent together, they rarely touched, and almost never without armor. This was too close, too dangerous. He was leaving himself far too open and he had to _get away now_ before it was too late. Tensing again, he gritted his teeth, muscles working along his jaw as he fought the impulse to turn and run.

If it bothered Hawke, what she could see him doing and feel under her hand, she gave no indication, just continued watching him. After several long moments, when the urge to bolt had faded and his muscles had relaxed, she moved again. She tilted her head, raised her face to his and ever so gently brushed her lips across his mouth.

Fenris's breath caught in his throat and his mind raced at the unfamiliar sensation. It was not unpleasant, not by any means, but it was new, beyond the scope of his experience, and he was unsure how exactly to proceed. He knew what she was doing, what she was silently proposing and offering, along with the fact that she was leaving the bulk of the decision up to him. From her there would be no pressure, no force, and he was reasonably sure that if he pushed her away, there would be no lingering resentment or anger.

The question was did he want to push her away?

Hawke watched him as he thought, her expression calm, but curious. While he turned over this unexpected development in his mind, she leaned forward again, pressing her lips to his with a bit more force. And then he was moving, almost without thinking, returning the kiss a little hesitantly, a little awkwardly, his free hand coming up to cup the back of her neck like it was the most natural action in the world.

That touch seemed to release something between them. Suddenly Hawke was closer, her body brushing against his, her mouth open and teasing against his. A delicate lick and curl of her tongue, and then another. Their hands parted to find other places to touch and hold. When Hawke's hands slid against his chest and up behind his neck, he repressed the urge to strike out against her, against the person who was making him vulnerable. She seemed to sense that because she made a low, soothing sound, her hands touching lightly and rubbing gently. No fast or hard movements to unnerve him.

For a moment, there was a spike of rage against Danarius and Hadriana and all the others that had made him like _this_. That Fenris was the way he was—so far removed from what he knew should be normal—that a simple, caring touch made him defensive was their fault and he _hated_ them for it. Hated _himself_ for letting it happen. Hated _her_ for showing him how broken he was. And then Hawke was there, pulling him back into the moment and tugging him gently toward a corner, away from any possible prying eyes and into the privacy afforded by lush foliage.

The corner she pulled him into was concealed by several tall, bushy plants, the leaves obscuring anything behind them unless someone was looking right at them. And the angle of the walkway meant no one could see them unless they entered the courtyard, unlikely in the rain. He shuddered as the leafy fronds shielded them, not realizing the knot of fear in his gut at being discovered until it began to ease.

He felt a slight shudder in Hawke's form and knew she had held the same fears. Bold and reckless she might be, but this…. This was a risk even she had to know could be potentially disastrous. They would have to be careful, perhaps more so than he'd ever been, for there would not always be rain and some semblance of privacy to offer a thin veneer of protection. And just as it hit him that he was already anticipating and planning for future encounters—and before he could fully process what that meant—Hawke was drawing him down on top of her.

The loam of the flower bed was damp and springy beneath his knees as he straddled her hips, the ground able to absorb much more water before it became truly muddy. Fenris froze, uncertain about what exactly to do next, although want and need had risen up and practically consumed him. Now that he allowed himself to _feel_, they were far stronger than anything he had ever experienced before, and the intensity scared him just a little.

Hawke placed her hands flat along his thighs and kneaded gently, the touch reassuring. She laid back, unmindful and uncaring of the dirt underneath her. She waited patiently—offering herself—with eyes soft and half-lidded.

Fenris took a minute to just look at her, observing the way her clothes clung to her, how he could see the dark peaks of her nipples through her nearly sheer shirt. He had seen her naked before, but to be able to look openly, to be invited to _touch_ was something completely new and foreign. Cautiously, he lifted a hand and cupped one of her breasts gently. It fit, just the right size for his cupped hand. Seren arched slightly beneath him as he squeezed and kneaded gently, entranced by the texture—soft and firm all at the same time, molding to his hand while keeping its own unique shape.

Sitting back more firmly on his knees, he brought his other hand up as well, giving the same attention to her neglected breast. The dark nipples were clearly visible now, pressing up against the sodden fabric of her shirt. Tentatively, he flicked his thumbs against them, blinking in surprise as Seren twitched underneath him, her breath catching on an indrawn breath.

Gaining confidence with each movement of the woman below him—each twitch and buck, each swipe of a tongue across swollen lips—Fenris rolled the hardened peaks between his fingers. He marveled at how stiff they were, how they remained so even as he played with him. And he was amazed that his hands, that for so long were good for dealing only death and pain, were now so capable of being gentle, of bringing pleasure.

The entire time he explored, Seren had continued rubbing his thighs, moving up from his knees to his hips and then back down. Now her hands were rubbing more firmly, pressing down with a deeper, soothing pressure. Her thumbs moved along the creases where his thighs met his hips, and then arrowed down along his groin, coming close, but never quite touching the bulge that now strained the front of his breeches almost painfully. He snatched her hands off of himself quickly. Her too clever by far fingers were wandering too close and he was afraid if she touched him, it would be over too soon.

Fenris had…touched himself before, when the sights and sounds of orgies or pleasure slaves being used had remained with him, leaving him hard and aching beneath his armor. Release has always been quick and shameful, too scared of leaving himself in such a vulnerable position to ever try achieving any real pleasure from it.

A small huff of laughter called his attention back, and he looked down to see Seren smirking up at him, a wicked light dancing in her eyes. Fenris suddenly wanted to see her, see all of her, without the veil of clothing in the way. He reached for the hem of her shirt and then stopped. While there was a sort of wild beauty to her, lying beneath him on the earth, she deserved better than to be taken in the rain and mud. He couldn't give it to her, but she still deserved better.

With a quick motion, he stripped his shirt off, tossing it carelessly to the side and then slid his hands under her back and flipped them. She grabbed his shoulders to steady herself as they moved, stifling her giggles as they resettled themselves, this time with Seren straddling Fenris's hips, his back pressed into the surprisingly soft earth beneath him. It was a wholly different experience, to be looking up at her, black hair plastered to her scalp and face, cheeks flushed. Then with an impudent grin, she peeled her shirt off and sent it to land next to his with a flop.

No Tevinter sculptor or painter could ever capture perfection like that.

Fenris had spent his whole life among the wealthiest of magisters. He'd seen priceless works of art, flawless statues showcasing the perfect form. They all paled in comparison to the woman rising above him now. How could oil and canvas, marble and gold leaf compare to this? None of them could ever capture the spark of warmth, of _desire_ he saw in her eyes. None of them would ever have the things that made her real—the line where the tanned skin of her neck met the paleness of her shoulders, the silvery scar that ran along her collarbone, the three beauty marks scattered across the left side of her ribs. They would call those imperfections, and in their blindness not see that they were what proved she was a living, breathing woman and that _that_ was what made her perfect.

He reached up and tugged her down until her hands rested flat in the dirt beside his head, her breasts hanging over his face. He leaned up, and indulging a desire he didn't realize he had until just then, drew one of those dusky nipples into his mouth. She gasped as he suckled, rolling the nub with lips and tongue, and cried out softly when he grazed gently with his teeth.

A brief thought flashed through his mind—that though he could not remember, he must have done this before. His body seemed to move of its own accord, knowing what to do even if he himself did not, with a level of skill that sheer animal instinct did not account for. He felt a brief moment of loss for this part of his life he could not get back, followed quickly by a surge of gratitude that he had the chance to try again.

Above him, Seren moaned quietly, biting her lip to keep the sound from becoming a full cry and Fenris released her nipple to grin in silent triumph. At seeing his expression, Seren raised an eyebrow, gave her own knowing smirk and sat back. The sudden pressure of her bottom resting on the erection still trapped in his pants made Fenris hiss and buck. The temptress kneeling above him had the nerve to laugh softly and suddenly Fenris was done with teasing. He wanted her—now.

Fenris fumbled at the tie holding her pants up, fingers shaking with need. Gently, her hands closed over his, pulling him away before he could tighten the sodden string hopelessly. She directed him to his own pants, and then moved back, untying the string holding her pants up and peeling them off. Fenris paused partly through unlacing the trousers of his pants to admire the sight. He'd seen her naked countless times, yet this was different. This time, Seren was baring herself because she chose to, for _him_.

Reaching for her without thinking, he frowned when she pulled back, then gasped as she took over where he'd left off, her fingers brushing against the length of his erection as she finished working the laces free and pulling his pants down and off his legs. She paused, crouched over his legs, head tilted to the side while she gazed at him, lips curved in a hungry smile.

Then Seren crawled up his body slowly, and Fenris's mouth went dry. He reached for her again as she came closer, and this time she came to him eagerly. Fenris pulled her down, onto his chest, trapping his length between their bellies as he sought another kiss from her. Odd, how that meeting of lips and tongues felt so much more intimate than the press of their naked bodies. Perhaps because it was that show of affection that was denied to them.

Seren broke the kiss, lifted herself and grasped him gently, guiding the both of them. The first touch of his tip against her—wet from more than just the rain still coming down—almost undid him. And when she began to lower herself, his control broke. He grabbed for her hips, his own bucking up from the ground to meet her halfway, fully sheathing himself within her.

They both gasped and froze, Fenris's head thrown back and Seren's hanging down, her face obscured by the locks of wet hair that fell in front of it. The sound of rain on the leaves was loud as they panted quietly, and gritting his teeth with the effort to not just flip Seren back over and seek his release, he lowered his hips back to the ground. Above him, Seren shuddered slightly and sighed, the little bit of tension holding her rigid bleeding out of her frame.

For now, Fenris was willing to cede control to her. His own control was already hanging by a thread, and he wasn't confident enough to think that he knew what he was doing without doing _something_ wrong. So he concentrated on not gripping her too hard as she sank down the rest of the way upon him. And he kept concentrating as she began to move.

Sliding her hands along his chest, she braced herself and raised herself up, almost completely off of him and then slid back down again. Fenris caught the strangled groan in his throat. Over the sounds of the storm, it was unlikely that they would be heard, but he wouldn't risk it.

Again and again she rocked against him, and Fenris grew bolder. He stroked the lines of her ribs, the light definitions of the muscles of her abdomen. Which each movement, her breasts bounced and he reached up to cup and play with them. She lowered herself slightly then, arching into his touch. He began thrusting to meet her movements, trying not to think about it and let their bodies set the pace.

When she lifted one hand from his chest to touch the dark curls over her sex, his hand followed. She cried out softly at his first touch and bit her lip. Then she placed her hand over his, guiding his fingers over and around the firm little nub he found there. Her soft cries became needier and she pulled her hand away to stifle them. Without her there to guide him, he explored on his own, repeating the movements that had her bearing down harder and faster.

He could feel his own release drawing nearer and fought to stave it off. As much as he craved the pleasure that was currently drowning out all his other unpleasant memories of touch and pain, there was something intoxicating about being the one to give the same thing to another. He wanted the ecstasy of release, yes, but he wanted to see hers first.

With his lack of experience, he wasn't sure he'd recognize her release when it came. He'd heard female slaves with magisters in the throes of passion before—or at least they pretended well—but they were both as quiet as they could be, so that didn't help. Everything he could see told him he was giving her pleasure, but he still couldn't be certain.

He needn't have worried. Between one stroke and the next, Seren suddenly stiffened, bearing down of him with an unmistakable finality. Her back arched and she threw her head back, and he could feel her muscles clenching around him. She remained as quiet as before, except for one last keening cry, almost a sob, and then she nearly collapsed upon him, limbs shaking.

Wrapping his arms around her panting form, Fenris took over, surging into her as she clung to him. It didn't take long, perhaps another half dozen thrusts before he felt himself topple over that same edge. He buried himself in her as deeply as he could, pumping his release into her even as the last spasms of her body milked the seed from his. Taking advantage of their positions, he buried his face into Seren's neck and groaned, momentarily robbed of sight and sound and thought.

They lay there, naked in the dirt and the mud, rain still falling on and around them. Fenris didn't want to move—never wanted to move again, more content in that moment that he'd ever been in his whole life.

But…that wasn't possible, not for them.

Slowly, gently, he released his hold on Seren, brushing wet hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ears. She lifted herself slightly, still smiling, but there was understanding in her eyes as well. Moving slightly, she kissed him once more, gently, a conclusion to their passion rather than something leading up to it. Then she stood, stretched slightly and reached for her clothes.

It was awkward, trying to put on soaking wet clothes, but they managed. Finally they stood, facing each other on the marble path. Dressed once more, it seemed as if their coupling had never happened, the only signs were their slightly muddy clothing and Seren's lips, still swollen from when she'd bitten them.

Fenris found himself at a loss. He didn't know what to do now. Was this a fluke, an accident of time and place, or something more? Did she want this—_him_—or was it simply a matter of convenient release for her? He opened his mouth to ask, but Seren shook her head, stepped up to him and laid a finger across his lips. Then she replaced her finger with her lips and kissed him, fully, openly and completely without hesitation.

Then she pulled away, smiled at him, and padded back into the estate, leaving wet and slightly muddy footprints behind her. For a moment, he just watched her go, and then followed—stepping in her tracks to obscure them in case Danarius saw—and headed to the baths to get clean.

* * *

><p>Seren waited for Fenris the next morning at the doorway to the practice yard. Going out to arm and armor herself wasn't a privilege she'd earned yet. And if anyone knew about their…fraternization yesterday, she doubted she'd ever be allowed to.<p>

She grinned at the memory, touching her fingertips briefly to her lips. She hadn't planned on what had happened, not exactly. She'd noticed Fenris's attractiveness since the beginning, but he'd been so cold and distant. The thought of anything happening between them, besides a calculated seduction on her part, had been the furthest thing from her mind.

But in the intervening months, they'd grown closer, opened up to each other. Though her exposure to his life outside of training was limited, she's seen the way others treated him and looked at him. It made her heart ache to see anyone so shunned and belittled and ostracized. And while he hadn't said a word, and she knew he never would, she couldn't believe that being so alone didn't affect him. She'd seen it in the way he reacted to her.

The thought of more between them had begun to occur a few weeks before Hadriana tortured her and Danarius tried to kill her. And while that, and her anger at Fenris, had cooled those desires, they'd returned once things between them were good again. She thought he might be open to lying with her, but he was so hard to read at times that she hadn't been sure.

Not until she'd held out her hand to him in the courtyard and he'd taken it.

Seren smiled again, biting her lip. He'd been so gentle, almost afraid, touching her as if she were some new, strange, fragile wonder. And, _Maker_, the way he'd looked at her! She thought there were people who would look less awed if they walked into the Golden City itself. It was flattering. More than flattering. It made her shiver and blush, made her want to hide her face because there was no reason for him to look at _her_ like that, like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

They'd snuck back to their rooms after, and she'd spent the night thinking about it. Lying on her pallet, pleasantly sore, she'd actually felt happy. They'd been good together, moving as one without the need for words—though how she burned to hear his voice cry out in passion—and she wondered how far they would take this.

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and she looked up to see Fenris walking toward her. She smiled widely, meaning to greet him, but stopped as he came closer. He looked…tired, faint shadows gathered under his eyes, and he didn't seem particularly happy to see her. Not that he ever really looked happy, but she expected _something_. An icy tendril of disappointment slipped into her chest and her smile fell away. She supposed that was her answer then.

Still, she had manners. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly when he stopped in front of her.

Fenris blinked once, and looked down at her as if just realizing she was there. Then his expression…_softened_ and Seren felt her heart lurch. "I am fine," he replied gravely. "My sleep was…disquiet, but it was nothing more than that."

"Ah, good. I thought you might have had regrets."

At that, the faintest hint of a smile crossed his lips. "No. Never that."

Another lurch of her heart as her pulse began to race, and Seren realized this was already on the way to becoming more than a mere slaking of lust, if that's all it had ever been. With her family to worry about, she had to be so very, very careful, but as her father always said, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," but she fully intended to gain this for herself.

She reached out, brushing her fingers across the back of his hand, a quick fleeting touch that could be brushed off as accidental should anyone see. "I think maybe we should see if Aldric's done with breakfast."

Fenris nodded and stepped back, but not without a last look that dropped down to linger on her mouth. The tip of her tongue darted out to wet it, and she was rewarded with a slight intake of breath, and had to repress a laugh of delight.

Oh, yes. They would have to be careful.

* * *

><p>It was a week before they were together again, each unwilling to risk getting caught. There always seemed to be someone around, or someone walking by that they barely had a handful of minutes alone, let alone enough time to do more than exchange a quick kiss.<p>

But, oh, how she savored those kisses. Warm and ardent, lingering on her skin for what seemed like hours afterwards.

Then, one night, they finished much later than usual with the sparring. Aldric had been sent back in, and Seren was so close to perfecting a move that they kept working until the last rays of the sky faded and it was too dark to continue. Then they ate, lingering over the last of the stew as Mera puttered around them, and finally dragged themselves to get cleaned up.

In the bathing chamber, stripped of their dirty clothes and industriously scrubbing the dust from their skin, Seren suddenly realized they were alone. There weren't many slaves or guards walking around, and it would be highly unusual for them to come into this room. She stopped and looked up at Fenris only to find that his own movements had already stilled and he was watching her with a hungry gleam in his eyes.

She barely had time to take a breath before Fenris was across the room and on her. They stumbled briefly as he pushed her back and against the wall, using the stone to support her as he lifted her. Seren wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he did so, crossing her ankles against the small of his back.

It felt so good to be in his arms again, held and supported like she was safe, and for these few minutes she could forget everything else and just concentrate on the feel of her lover running his hands over her, touching her skin and panting against her neck as he kissed it. She gasped softly, mindful of the way the chamber could echo and amplify sound, and whispered how good he felt under her own hands.

Fenris shuddered with each word, his muscles tensing and rippling, until she ran a finger along one of the curiously firm markings that were mapped across the breadth of his body. He sucked in a sharp breath and went very still, only his chest still heaving. Seren snatched her fingers back quickly, suddenly unsure as she watched Fenris with his head bowed and eyes screwed tightly shut.

"I…do you not want me to touch them?" she asked quietly. It wasn't possible, not given how he was covered in the markings, but she could avoid touching them deliberately.

He shook his head minutely. "That's…that's not it."

Hesitantly, she traced another line and he shivered. "Do they hurt?"

There was a long pause before he shook his head again. "No," he breathed. "I cannot feel the markings themselves, but the edges are…sensitive."

Carefully, she cupped his jaw, tilting his head up until wide, olive green eyes met hers. Then she leaned forward, kissing him gently for a moment until he relaxed around her before moving her mouth down, over the markings that just touched his lower lip. Fenris groaned softly as she followed the markings down the column of his throat, and shifted, moving so that she could curl to suck gently and lave at them with her tongue.

"No marks," he gasped.

"I know," she murmured. "Though if you're concerned, you might want to let go of the death grip you have on my ass."

He laughed—actually laughed—though it was no more than a brief, hoarse bark, and relaxed his grip. "Enough teasing," he muttered. "We haven't the time."

"Right," she replied, and shifted back, bracing herself so that he could thrust inside of her. They moved quickly, knowing that at any moment they could be caught, and Seren slipped a hand between them, stroking herself, her fingers brushing against his cock as it slid in and out of her. Like before, Fenris waited until her ecstasy peaked—biting her lip to keep from crying out and her head thumping against the stone wall—before taking his own. He buried his own cry into her neck and then the room was silent once more, save for the sound of their ragged breathing.

"I could get used to that," Seren panted as Fenris gently lowered her legs to the ground, steadying her until she had her legs firmly underneath her.

She expected perhaps a smirk or a murmur of agreement, not the clouding of his eyes and the way his expression turned reserved. "Best not to take anything for granted," he said, turning away to get a fresh bucket of water and a rag to clean himself with.

Feeling hurt, Seren sat down hard on one of the benches, wrapping her arms around herself and hunching over. Right then, she felt more vulnerable in her nakedness than in all the time she'd been in the estate. "Do you not want to do this?" she asked, trying not to be bitter as she stared at the floor between her feet.

Fenris knelt in front of her, setting the bucket he held down next to him. He touched her calf gently, running a fingertip down to her ankle until she looked at him. Nudging her knees apart, he wrung the rag in the bucket out and reached forward with it to clean her, moving and touching softly as she twitched at the feel of rough cloth on sensitive flesh. He held her gaze the entire time, and when he was done, the rag tossed into the bucket, he spoke quietly.

"I want this," he said. "I want you. But I can't help but feel uneasy. It has nothing to do with you. Please believe that."

"I do."

"I simply ask that you be patient with me. This is all rather new."

What an odd contradiction, for Fenris to know so much about killing and death and fear, but to not know the comfort and affection of a lover. It wasn't fair, she thought angrily, that his life had been stolen before he could ever call it his own. She reached out, brushing a bit of hair out of his eyes and nodded. "Whatever you need," she said softly.


	10. Chapter 10

Fenris and Seren continued to find time and ways to be together, even if those occasions were rushed and hurried. And while Fenris wanted more, wanted to take his time and explore, it was Seren who took the most risks, who was willing to risk getting caught for more time together. The first night Fenris awakened to a hand slipping over his mouth, he reacted with fury. After his markings had quieted and he'd released her so she could move away, he chastised her in hissing tones for being so reckless, so _stupid_.

He should have expected her reaction, known that she was digging in her heels. That damnable stubbornness of hers might have kept her alive here, but it was going to get them both in trouble. Seren glared at him when he was done, her lips set in a firm line.

"I'm not going to let them keep me from you," she whispered back just as fiercely. "Not when you're right here, not when I can have you."

"It's too risky—"

"Everything worth doing is a risk!" She reached out, touched his cheek with gentle fingers as he looked away. "I'm here, right _here_, and I want to be with you. If you really want me to go, I will. But if so, let it be because that's what you want and not because of the fear." Her fingers fell away from his face. "Do you want me to go?"

"No." The admission was almost torn from him, reluctant and pained, but true. He didn't want her to go, despite knowing the danger. Fenris wanted Seren with him more than he should, with a ferocity that shocked—and worried—him. He was coming to depend on her too much, but he couldn't make himself send her away. He extended one hand. "Stay."

Seren smiled and crawled forward until her arms were wrapped around him. "Then I will."

* * *

><p>He should have known better.<p>

The sound of familiar footsteps woke him a split second before Hadriana walked into his room, and he realized with horror that this was one of the nights Seren had snuck in with him, and that she had curled up beside him when they were done, saying that she'd go back to her own cell in a few minutes. And, wretched fool that he was, he had relented, letting her stay.

There was a quick, sharp gasp as Danarius's apprentice took in the scene before her. The sound was enough to wake Seren and he felt her stiffen against him, though she made no other movement.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" Hadriana purred. "Someone's not where they're supposed to be. I'm shocked. And to think I just came to have a bit of fun with Fenris. Tell me, Fenris, would you mind terribly if I borrowed your little friend instead?"

Beneath the thin sheet where Hadriana couldn't see, a quick brush of his fingers against the small of her back was the only warning, the only comfort, the only apology he could offer. And then he shoved her from the low bed to land in a heap on the floor. Her knees cracked against the stone and sharp hiss of pain escaped before she could bite it back.

"Take her," he told Hadriana, keeping all of his attention focused on the apprentice. "It matters not to me; I'm done with her."

Hadriana's eyes narrowed suspiciously, flickering back and forth between Fenris and Hawke. But Fenris kept his face the impassive mask he usually wore. Inside, he prayed Hawke would know what he was trying to do, would understand that he was doing the only thing he could to keep Hadriana from hurting her more than she already would.

His act must have finally convinced Hadriana, for she nodded once and reached down to tangle a hand in Hawke's hair, drawing the woman up with a savage motion. Fenris rolled over, turning away from them and drawing the sheet around him. He closed his eyes in a show of going back to sleep, and waited for Hadriana to lead Hawke away. But as soon as the footsteps faded into silence, his eyes flew open and he sat up, clutching his head in his hands.

He knew what awaited Hawke, what Hadriana liked to do slaves, and he cursed himself. Once before he'd allowed Hadriana to take her away, and now he had done it again. And this time it was his fault. He should have known better, been more careful, taken better precautions. Every torment Hawke suffered tonight was on his head. There was no way he could spare her from it, but he wouldn't forgive himself either.

He could only hope Hawke wouldn't hate him for doing what had to be done.

* * *

><p>"I heard something interesting from Hadriana the other day, Fenris. Do you care to guess what it was?"<p>

Fenris stood before the magister, silent. He hadn't seen Hawke in three days, and he knew that even in the unlikely event that Danarius didn't know exactly where she was, the magister must have noticed her absence. Fenris had been waiting for this conversation ever since, and now that it was here, he remained silent. There was nothing to say. No words, not even the most heartfelt apologies—even if he truly meant them—would deter Danarius from his chosen course. That his master had waited to say anything could be taken as either a good or bad sign, but he knew better than to hope this reckoning would be anything other than utterly agonizing.

"Nothing? I'm disappointed, my pet." Sighing, Danarius walked to the window, looking out over the gardens that his study faced, his slaves going about their duties weeding and planting and pruning.

"Perhaps the fault is mine," Danarius mused.

That was unusual enough to snap Fenris's head up to stare at his master. There was no way Danarius would ever admit to something being his fault. Blame could always be laid elsewhere—at the feet of stupid and incompetent people or in flawed and faulty tools and materials.

Danarius looked over, meeting Fenris's stare mildly. "You've been loyal to me, haven't you, my little Fenris?"

Nothing in Fenris's experience or training had prepared him for a situation like this, and he stared at his master helplessly.

"Fenris…."

"I…yes, Master."

Nodding and smiling, Danarius walked over to him, reaching out a hand to stroke his hair. "I know you have, my pet. And I think now that I haven't properly shown my gratitude for such unwavering loyalty and service." He paused and tilted his head thoughtfully. "The girl. You find her pleasing?"

"Master?" This was going in a direction Fenris didn't like. If only Danarius would rant and scream at him, punish and hurt him for his transgressions, he'd at least know where he stood. This uncertainty inspired a kind of terror he'd never known, as if the floor beneath his feet would give way and cast him into a pit of unimaginable horrors if he took a single misstep.

"Hawke," Danarius explained patiently. "You took her to your bed, so I must assume that she pleases you."

"Yes, Master," he whispered, resorting to the plain, awful truth because he had nothing else.

Danarius smiled paternally. "Then she is yours."

"What?" The word tumbled, shocked, from his lips before he could hold it back.

"She is yours," Danarius repeated, "to do with as you please until I need her for the ritual. She must continue training, of course, but other than that…do with her what you will."

He couldn't do this. Once before he'd played the part of a spy, manipulating her to get information to use against her, and it had left him feeling soiled. And that was before he'd come to truly care about her. Now, to be told that in effect she belonged to him? That he was to use her the way a magister would? The kindness, the gift Danarius appeared to offer was no such thing. It was a cruel torment, one that even he couldn't stomach.

"I don't want—"

"Do not misunderstand me, Fenris," Danarius said coldly, the false, genial appearance falling away. "This is what you have to decide. She'll be used by you, or I'll give her to the barracks. _That_ is the choice you have."

He thought he'd fooled Hadriana, that he'd convinced her Seren really meant nothing to him. That had been a foolish assumption. This was his punishment then, his master twisting Fenris's affections into something perverse, using his own feelings against him. Who would have thought this could hurt more than any whip or knife or play of magic across his flesh?

"Well?" Danarius drawled, an edge of impatience creeping into his tone. "What is to be?"

"M-Me," Fenris whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. "Please, Master, I'll do it."

A soft hand patted his cheek. "I knew you would, my pet. And I _do_ expect you to use her. If you do not, my little wolf, she _will_ go to my men. My generosity has its limits. And move her to your cell. That should make it...easier for you."

"Yes, Master."

"I'm still waiting for proper gratitude, by the way."

Fenris bowed lowed, as low as he could and still remain upright, his hair falling down like a curtain to obscure his face. "Thank you, Master, for your benevolence. I am unworthy."

"You are," Danarius agreed. "But that is hardly your fault. Now leave me."

* * *

><p>"I don't see what the problem is."<p>

Fenris whirled on Seren, hands opening and closing in formless rage. "Do you not see what he is doing?! That he is using _this_, using _us_ against each other!"

"I can see that," she replied evenly. "I just don't see why it matters."

He gaped at her and then threw his hands up in frustration as he sunk onto the side of his bed. "He is taking this from us, exerting his control even here. He cannot let us have this one small thing. Everything that happens in this house belongs to him."

Without another word, Seren padded closer, dropping to her knees before him. She reached out and took his hands in hers. "I don't care," she said softly. "I don't care because no matter what his reasons are, they don't matter because we still get to be together. Can't you just be happy for that?"

Fenris looked down at her gravely. She was so at ease with this because she still didn't know the whole truth. He would have to tell her, Fenris realized, swallowing down the sick feeling that rose in his gut. He would have to tell her the truth, reveal what he'd kept concealed. He hadn't ever intended to tell her. She would have railed futilely against her fate and that would have stolen whatever peace and joy she'd managed to find. That had been something else he hadn't wanted to do, hadn't wanted to be the one to destroy the part of her that kept hoping, kept fighting.

He closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath. When he opened them, he said quietly, "He's doing this to punish me."

Seren quirked an eyebrow up in disbelief. "This may sound conceited, but I don't see how getting to have sex with me is a punishment."

He couldn't even find it in himself to chuckle. Instead, he tugged one of his hands free of hers, turning it over so they could both see the lyrium lines in his palm clearly. "You asked me before about when I received these," he said carefully, thinking back to quiet murmurings in the dark when she'd asked questions and he had evaded them. "I have been reluctant to tell you because I did not want to cause you pain."

Her brows furrowed slightly. "Do they hurt? You told me that touching them didn't cause you any pain."

Shaking his head, Fenris assured her, "They don't. They ache sometimes, but that is all. It doesn't hurt when you touch them."

"But they did hurt when you got them?" she asked, pursuing the next likely thought.

"Yes. The pain..." He hesitated, and then decided that if he were going to speak the truth, he should reveal all of it. "The pain was indescribable. I have felt nothing since that can even begin to compare with it." She blanched slightly at that, but he could see the resolve in her face, the determination to be brave in the face of what was coming. "But that is not the important part of what I'm trying to tell you."

"Seems pretty important to me," she muttered.

Fenris managed a slight smile at that, and couldn't resist reaching out to stroke a fingertip through her hair. "You have also asked me about my past."

"You said you don't remember much."

"I remember nothing," he said flatly, not bothering to mention the brief flashes of what seemed like memory before they faded again. He took a deep breath, knowing the impact his next words would have. "The ritual... Whoever I was before, the ritual burned it away. I remember nothing before those first moments of agony when they began branding the lyrium into my skin."

There was a moment's pause before Seren's eyes went wide and shocked as she began to understand what he was telling her. She leaned back slightly, away from him, tugging her hand out of his grasp, her breath starting to come in panicky little pants. Fenris forced himself to finish.

"I don't even remember my name. 'Fenris' is the name Danarius gave me. That's why this is punishment for me, because he's going to let me have you and then take you away. You won't remember any of this, or me, but I will remember you. I will remember everything and you will be—"

He'd reached out while he was speaking, to touch her, to gain some comfort from her presence, but she recoiled as his hand came close, hurt etching itself across her features. She scrambled away from him, moving back until she was against the wall, only a few feet away in his small room.

"You knew," she whispered accusingly. "You knew and you said _nothing_."

The words "I'm sorry" hung on the tip of his tongue, but they seemed so trite and meaningless. Instead, he remained silent, watching as she seemed to crumple in on herself, drawing her knees up and pressing her forehead to them. He could hear her shaky, watery breathing, her frantic, distressed gasps as she struggled to accept her fate.

"I'm not going to remember anything?" she finally asked, looking up. "When he does _that_ to me," and here she pointed at him, "I'm going forget everything? Everyone? My family? My home?"

Her eyes were huge in her pale face, shining wetly, and her cheeks were damp from the tears she had already shed. Fenris wanted so badly to tell her no, that there was a way to avoid that agony, but he couldn't. So he just nodded. "Yes."

Seren blinked, silently sending new tears trickling down her cheeks. Abruptly, she shoved herself to her feet, staggering toward the door. He jumped to his feet as well, taking a step toward her, but she threw a hand out to stop him. "No," she said, voice shaking. "No. Just...just don't." She turned away from him and slipped through of the doorway without another word.

Rooted to the spot, Fenris watched her go, feeling his heart clench in his chest and marveling at the fact that he felt physical pain without any wound to cause it. Eventually, when Seren didn't return, he sat back down on the edge of his bed, hands dangling limply between his knees and head bowed. He shouldn't have told her the truth, but he shouldn't have kept it from her either, not when it explained the situation they found themselves in. His was an impossible situation. There was no right course. His revelation had cost him the one thing that had brought him happiness. Sometimes he heard other slaves speak of broken hearts, and had scoffed at their exaggerations. But now he understood, and he wasn't sure how _anyone_ survived it.

He continued to sit in his room as the last bits of light fled, the darkness filling the room. He supposed he should do something, even if it was just go to bed, but he couldn't find the energy to move for a long, long time.

* * *

><p>The days passed in much the same way as the first time Seren had been angry at Fenris. Though, in truth, she wasn't as much angry as she was devastated, betrayed. All of her plans of placating the magister until she could escape vanished, like wisps of smoke from a dead fire. Her family would be free, her sacrifice would ensure that much, at least. But everything else was just...gone.<p>

And while like last time she understood that Fenris was just as trapped as she was, she couldn't help feeling the fear and grief and helplessness that rose up whenever she saw him. She managed to put it aside when they trained, but for the rest of the time, she avoided him as much as possible. That was made even more difficult when she was forced to sleep in his room. They lay on his bed, not speaking, not looking at each other, the tension between them tangible. Seren wanted nothing more than to turn to him, to seek comfort with him, but she couldn't bring herself to.

During the day, she spent as much time as she could with her family, whenever their duties allowed. It wasn't enough, not with this new knowledge, but she would take what she could. And while it helped assuage the panic, it nonetheless grew harder to stay in control, to keep her composure and not fly to pieces.

Seren broke one night, several days after Fenris had told her. She was in the baths, cleaning up, when she began to breathe hard and fast, feeling like her throat was closing up, like she couldn't draw a full breath. She stumbled to the side until her hand touched the wall, and then she pressed her back to it, sliding down until she was crouched on the floor, arms around her knees, hugging them tight to her body in an attempt to get control.

How long she huddled there, she didn't know. Time had no meaning, not when she was shaking and gasping and gritting her teeth in an effort not to scream. She felt it, though, when Fenris stepped into the doorway. He stood there, watching her, and she didn't know what she wanted him to do until he stepped into the bathing room and she nearly cried with relief.

He crossed to where she was and settled in the floor next to her. When he reached for her, Seren allowed him to pull her into his arms, climbing into his lap, wrapping her arms around him, and burying her face in his neck. "I'm so _scared_," she gasped out, breathing the words into his skin. "It'll be like dying, but only worse, because I'll still be here, but I won't be _me_."

Fenris's arms spasmed once and then tightened around her further, nearly crushing her, and she reveled in it. He said nothing, perhaps realizing there was nothing he could say. Again she shook and he pulled her closer, knowing there was nothing he could give her to ease this pain and fear.

"It's not _fair_!" she burst out. "I hate this! I'm supposed to be strong. I'm supposed to keep my family safe. I promised Father I would look after them, and look where I got us. Everyone was counting on me and I failed them: Mother, Carver, Bethany. Look what I've done to them. And now the only way I save them it is to _lose them_!"

She broke then, dissolving into sobs, clutching at him. Fenris tentatively ran a hand down her back, and then again more firmly. He didn't try to shush her or reassure her the way her parents had when she was a child, but his silent support was what she needed. He just let her cry, holding her the entire time until her sobs trailed off into sniffles and hiccups. Then he handed her a rag and she used it to wipe her face and blow her nose. When she felt a little calmer, she shifted herself on Fenris's lap, knowing it had to have been uncomfortable for him to hold her in that position for so long.

Worried green eyes darted down to look at her when she laid her cheek on his shoulder, and she managed to summon up a tiny smile. The grave expression on his face didn't change. Seren sighed. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"You have no reason to be," he said just as quietly.

She just nodded. It wasn't true, but it hardly seemed to matter anymore. "And you know what makes it worse?" she asked without expecting an answer. "I'm going to lose you, too." She laughed without humor. "You know, I even thought that even if I never managed to escape, it would be all right if I had you."

"Don't say that!" he said harshly. "I'm not worth that."

"But you are." She smiled again, more genuine this time. "Being with you is the only good thing that's happened to me here, and I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"Seren, don't," he pleaded.

Her fingers touched his lips to stop his words, and then swiped across his cheek gently. They came back damp. "And since we're being honest...I love you," she said quietly. "I don't know if you and I would ever be possible anywhere but here, or if I could have fallen in love with you in another life, but I love you. And it's cruel of me to tell you now, but I need you to know, before Danarius takes that from me, too. I love you, Fenris."

Fenris squeezed his eyes shut and pulled her fast against him. His throat worked for long moments and he opened his mouth a few times but nothing came out. Seren just trailed her fingers over his lips and curled into his a little more. She didn't need to hear the words. She knew he cared and that was enough.

* * *

><p>Seren was determined to enjoy whatever time she had left. Forcing the thoughts of what was to come away, she focused on what she could control. She trained fiercely during the day, sought out her family whenever they had free time, and spent her nights loving Fenris.<p>

She was careful to keep her inner turmoil from her family, though she knew her mother suspected something was wrong. She assured her mother that she would be fine, that she'd find a way out eventually, and if she held on for a long time when giving Leandra a hug, well, her mother just squeezed back tightly.

With Bethany, who seemed so frail and skittish now, Seren tried to be the big sister, the one who always protected Bethany when they were kids. "You'll be fine, Bethy," she murmured, playing with her sister's hair the way they had when they were children, the way she'd always soothed Bethany when she was upset. "Just be strong, stay safe, and you'll be _fine_."

And with Carver, there was no trace of the headstrong, arrogant boy he'd been. Whatever he'd seen as a slave—he refused to speak of it—had changed him. He was grim now, aged beyond the year that had passed. He was the only one Seren showed her fears to. "Protect them," she pleaded. "Keep them safe."

"I will," he said gravely. "Until you come back to help me."

Seren looked into his eyes, the same shade as hers, and wondered if the same terrible bleakness she saw in his was reflected in her own. "I'm afraid you're on your own, baby brother."

He didn't say anything, just enveloped her in a quick, tight hug, and they went their separate ways. They didn't speak of it again, but something unsaid passed between them when they saw each other, and Seren knew Carver would do his best to keep their mother and sister safe.

And as for Fenris... As much as she'd been hurt by Fenris's revelation, she realized how much worse it must be for him, to know that when she was gone, he would be left behind, to live with her and only know the empty shell she would become. The person at fault was the bastard who owned them, and she wouldn't lay the blame at Fenris's feet. So she focused on loving him the best way she knew how, touching and holding whenever they could.

There was only one thing she really wanted from him, and she waited until late one night when they were curled together, beginning to drowse. "Fernis?" she said softly. His answer was more of questioning hum than a word, and she smiled into the dark. "I want you to promise me something."

That roused him, his body tensing next to hers. "What?"

"If you ever get the chance to escape, take it."

He inhaled sharply, and his hold on her tightened painfully. "_No_."

"Fenris, please—"

"I won't leave you."

"I'll already be gone." The words were quiet, but they rang loudly in the stillness of the room. "You deserve a chance to be free, so if it happens I want you to take it."

Fenris was quiet for a long time. "I won't leave you here alone, not with them."

"There's no reason for us to both suffer."

"I would suffer whether I was here or elsewhere. At least here, I can still try to help you." She went to speak, but he slipped a hand over her mouth. "Do not ask that of me again."

Seren finally nodded beneath his hand, and held her tongue when he slipped it away. She wanted freedom for him, wanted him to know what it was like, but she couldn't force a promise like that from him. Perhaps, once he saw that she was gone, he would feel differently.

She hoped so.

* * *

><p>The weeks seemed to pass slowly and all too fast, at the same time. The threat of what would happen hung heavy over both of them, waiting to come down at any moment, dragging every minute out in terrible waiting, yet there never seemed to be enough time. They didn't talk about it because there was no need to. Seren was horribly aware that every moment passed not spent with those she loved was a moment wasted, one of a finite number that she had left. She woke frequently with nightmares, afraid to go back to sleep because it was time that was forever lost to her. Fenris never said anything when that happened, just held her until she drifted back off.<p>

And when she stepped from Fenris's room one morning, to find guards waiting in the hall, she knew. Fenris's sharp intake of breath was the only reaction he gave before two of the guards grabbed her arms, marching her down the hall. She went without much struggle, but twisted her head back around. Fenris stood and watched, his hands balled into fists, despair and grief clear on his face. And then they turned around the corner, and he was gone.

Seren took a deep breath, tried to calm her racing heart, and pulled away from the guards just enough that she walked under her own power. She would not go to this being dragged like a pitiful child. Until the very last moment, she would remain herself.

* * *

><p>Never, in all that Fenris remembered of his life, had he ever wanted to run more. Danarius had ordered him to stand guard outside the door, another measure solely contrived to hurt him because no one in the household was fool enough to risk disturbing the magister during a ritual of this magnitude. Standing outside the chamber where Danarius and Hadriana worked their foul magic, he could hear Seren scream. He couldn't stop the clenching of his fists, the motion driving the pointed tips of his gauntlets into his palms and drawing blood every time her voice rose in pain. After what seemed like hours, the screams lost their high, piercing keen and became strained and fractured. He wondered if she'd ruptured her vocal cords, wondered if he screamed like that when he was the one bound to the altar.<p>

When the screaming stopped, he didn't know if she was alive or dead. Or which one he wanted more.

It still took a long, long time for the door to the chamber to open after the screams stopped. Fenris couldn't remember with any certainty how long the ritual had taken with him, but he was nearly sure that it hadn't been that long. Hours had passed, long enough for the sun to reach its zenith and begin its descent to the west, and still Danarius worked. Whatever he was doing, it was different from what he'd done to Fenris, and Fenris was sick with the knowledge that it meant more suffering for Seren.

When the door opened, Hadriana staggered out, her face a pale, gaunt mask. The smell of blood, magic, and death followed her, rolling out into the hallway in a wave nearly strong enough to make him gag. He knew that when he entered, he would see the corpses of slaves, piled up like so much refuse, having served their purpose to provide blood for the spells. Danarius emerged after her, drained as well, but managing a far less haggard appearance.

"Take her to one of the healing rooms. I will send some slaves to tend her," Danarius said hoarsely, waving vaguely in Fenris's direction. "You will attend her as well. Make sure she doesn't die, and let me know when she's recovered enough to to begin training again. It should be within the week."

A week, barely enough time for the wounds to heal enough so that they weren't an agony to touch. Fenris forced himself to nod once. "Yes, Master."

"And I don't think I need to tell you that you're not to take any more liberties with property, do I, my little wolf?"

"No, Master."

"Good." Danarius waved toward the chamber. "And get someone to clean up in there."

Fenris just bowed his head, not trusting himself to speak and turned to enter the ritual room.

"Oh, and Fenris?" Fenris paused, not quite looking back. "Don't you wish to know my new bodyguard's name?" Danarius waited, but when Fenris didn't answer, he chuckled cruelly. "Such defiance, my pet. We'll have that fixed soon enough. For now, see to Leto."

There was a long pause, like Danarius was waiting for something, but Fenris didn't know what. After another moment, Danarius laughed again. "I had wondered if it meant anything to you, but I suppose not. In case you are curious, it means 'forgotten.' Appropriate, don't you think?"

_Forgotten_, Fenris thought darkly. Like what Seren Hawke was meant to be now, the way her past and her very self was to her now. It would have been too much to hope that Danarius would let her keep her name, yet another way that Danarius had take Seren from him. He would not longer be able to speak her name, except for in his own mind.

Danarius's laughter followed him into the chamber, and he did his best to ignore it. Seren lay upon the altar set in the center of the room. The stone was coated with blood, the same blood that covered Seren's naked body. She was filthy with it, the bright crimson of fresh blood and the dark brown of drying blood doing little to obscure the new lines that ran everywhere across her body. Fenris bit his lip against the cry that threatened to escape. She looked so different, and not even the fact that her hair remained dark instead of turning white like his had was a comfort. His Seren was gone, and all that remained was Leto, Danarius's new bodyguard. There was nothing he could do for her now except help her to heal.

Carefully, trying not to touch any lyrium lines he didn't have to, he lifted her from the altar, ignoring the way the hoarse, pained moan she let out tore at his heart. He forced to himself to breathe, then to turn and leave the chamber, going into the main part of the house, barely aware of the slave who followed them, wiping up the trail of blood drops they left in their wake. The room was sparsely furnished, but far more comfortable than his own hard cot and rough sheets, and at least she had someone who loved her to take care of her. It was all he could give her now.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Two things. 1) I apologize for the long delay. 2) Leto is a feminine Roman name that means "hidden, forgotten." It is used here quite deliberately for a few reasons.


	11. Chapter 11

Pain.

It was everywhere, inescapable and all-consuming. Every breath, every heartbeat, every movement, every touch _burned_, as if her blood itself had been set on fire. She couldn't think beyond the crippling agony and she would have done anything for even a moment of relief, but no respite came, just wave after wave of agony. Hands touched her, running across her body, moving her. She tried to scream, tried to beg for them to stop, tried to push them away, but neither her voice nor her body obeyed her. Liquids were forced down her throat until she choked on them. On and on it went until finally the blackness of sleep swallowed her again.

* * *

><p>Fenris sat on the floor against the wall, staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. He'd lost count of how many times Seren had woken up. He tried to tend to her when she was unconscious, knowing that while she was in a drugged sleep, she couldn't feel his touch. The healing salve was doing its work, helping to close the wounds left from the ritual, but applying it was agonizing, having to be massaged into nearly every inch of skin in order to work. The fever that burned through her left her drenched with sweat, and he didn't wash it away for fear of washing the salve away again and subjecting her to yet more pain.<p>

When she woke, though, that was the worst. There was no comprehension in her eyes, only pain and fever hazed confusion as he forced desperately needed water and broth into her. Fenris wanted to hold her, wanted to tell her it would be all right, but he couldn't, not without hurting her. Not to mention that it would be a lie. All he could do was force her to swallow a sleeping draught and hope the oblivion of sleep provided some relief.

What surprised him the most was how much _he_ hurt. His heart ached each time he heard her cry or whimper. He pressed a hand flat against his chest, unable to understand how or why it was happening. Was this what his victims felt like, as he wrapped his hand around their hearts? Was this his reward for the lives he had taken? Given the choice, he would rather be a mindless killer than have to suffer this each day.

"Fenris?"

Startled from his maudlin thoughts, he looked up to see one of the slaves Danarius had sent to assist him looking at him fearfully. The household slaves were all terrified of him and he'd been afraid their fear would render them less than useless in tending to Seren, but they're done their duties well, responding immediately whenever he needed something. That it was fear that drove them didn't make their aid less wanted or needed.

"What?" he snapped, not bothering to disguise his irritation at being disturbed.

"There's someone..." The slave gestured to the doorway, thankfully shielded by a thick curtain.

Fenris sighed and pulled his feet under him, standing with a bitten back groan. He hadn't slept more than a few hours hours in the last three days, hadn't eaten nearly enough, and it was taking its toll. He knew he needed to keep up his strength, but he couldn't summon the energy to care.

When he slipped around the curtain, he found Seren's sister, Bethany, hovering uncertainly in front of the doorway. Fenris made sure to stand directly in front of the opening, blocking her physically from entering the room. He hadn't had much contact with Seren's family, aside from seeing them around the estate. He did know that Bethany was a mage, and that she was ill-suited to becoming a magister, far too gentle to handle the bloody politics of the Imperium. Perhaps that's why she was here and not her brother or mother, both of whom shared more of Seren's spirit, if not nearly so much.

Bethany took a step back from him reflexively, and then caught herself. "Seri? Is she…?"

"Your sister lives," he replied shortly, unwilling to tell the girl exactly the state Seren—and she would _always_ be Seren in his mind, no matter what Danarius had renamed her—was in.

She drew a ragged breath and nodded, her eyes closing briefly in relief. "We're leaving," she said quietly. "Danarius wants us gone, but we couldn't leave without knowing."

When Fenris said nothing, she licked her lips nervously. "W-We're going to Kirkwall. Mother has family there. Tell her…tell her we'll be waiting for her. And that we love her."

Eyes sliding closed to block out Bethany's desperately worried, earnest visage, Fenris took a deep breath to steady himself. "I will tell her," he said quietly, knowing the words were a lie even as they passed his lips. He couldn't tell Seren's sister that waiting would be in vain because Seren was gone. That she wouldn't remember her family. That it would be as if Bethany, Carver, Leandra and Ferelden never existed.

That _he_ never existed.

"Thank you." Fenris nodded, but said nothing else, opening his eyes once more. Bethany glanced nervously down the hall. "I have to go," she said hurriedly. "Take care of her for us."

"I will." That was truth, a promise he could make with a clear conscience. As much as he'd failed Seren already, he would take care of her as best he could.

"Thank you," she said again, and then stepped forward and wrapped him in an impulsive hug. Fenris went rigid, but before he could break the hold himself, Bethany was stepping back and wiping at her amber eyes with her hands. Then she turned and fled down the hall, leaving Fenris alone in a room with the woman he loved.

And who used to love him.

* * *

><p>The first time she woke up, and wasn't overwhelmed by pain, she managed to open her eyes and look around. She didn't recognize the room she was in, all featureless tan stone with a few cots set against the walls. Light from a few high windows illuminated the space. Not seeing anyone else, she tried to push herself up, unable to bite back the whimper of pain the movement caused. In an instant, there was someone coming toward her and she instinctively flinched away, throwing an arm up in front of her face. She heard a quick, indrawn breath and the person stopped their advance, remaining utterly still. Slowly, she lowered her arm, cautiously looking at the stranger.<p>

He was tall, and strange looking. His skin was tanned, but his hair a brilliant white, the pointed tips of his ears poking through the strands, and he was covered in strange white markings. Similar markings to the ones she could see on her own arm, though his looked long healed while the skin around hers were still red and swollen, tender to the touch. She frowned down at them. She had no idea why she had them or how they had gotten there. Struggling to think, to put the pieces together to figure out what was going on, she realized there was a lot she didn't know.

Starting with her own name.

Her head snapped up to look at the stranger. She didn't know who he was either or where she was or what she was doing here. She could name all the objects in the room, knew that the stranger was an elf, but anything specific was..._gone_.

Her breath started to come faster, the air jerking in and out of her lungs as panic set in. "Who am I?" she whispered, terrified that she couldn't remember. "Where am I? What happened to me?"

The stranger must have seen how close to breaking she was because he came forward quickly, dropping down next to her cot and gently grasping her shoulders. It hurt, but the pain was distant, unimportant. "Be calm," he said firmly. "You are in no danger. Calm yourself."

His touch was steadying, his gaze even more so, and her breathing began to even out. He nodded when she relaxed, sagging back into the cot, every muscle in her body aching. "Good," he murmured. "Rest is what you need now."

She gripped his wrist before he could pull away. "Answer me."

His lips thinned, but he settled back down, kneeling carefully by her cot. "Do you remember anything at all? About yourself? About this place? About me?" The hesitation before the last question was slight, but she noticed it.

Her brow furrowed as she racked her mind for _anything_ that seemed familiar, but came up blank. She shook her head. His eyes closed for the briefest of moments and his shoulders sagged slightly as if he was disappointed. Then he straightened himself and nodded. "Your name is Leto. My name is Fenris. We are in Minrathous. We are slaves in service to the Magister Danarius and we serve as his bodyguards. Our markings are lyrium and were given to us in a ritual. That ritual is what caused your memory loss, but your skills should remain intact."

She turned the information over in her mind. Her name was Leto? She tested it silently. It didn't feel right, didn't seem to...fit. Even if her memories were gone, shouldn't her own name be familiar? But with nothing else to go by, the name would have to suffice. Leto frowned as she considered what else Fenris had said. Ritual? Magister Danarius? "I don't remember any of that."

Fenris's frown deepened and it made Leto sad, though she didn't know why. All she knew was that she didn't like seeing him frown. "It is a side effect of the ritual. I am sorry. You will learn all you need to once you're well. Maybe…."

Fenris shook his head, not bothering to finish his last thought. "You need to rest." Carefully, he pried his wrist out of her hand and urged her to lay back down. Leto wanted to resist, to ask more questions, but she was tired and she still hurt. Reluctantly, she let Fenris press her back down onto the cot and took the cup he offered her. It tasted slightly bitter and she began to feel the effects almost immediately. As she started to fall asleep, she reached out and managed to catch a couple of Fenris's fingers in her hands. She didn't want him to go and leave her alone. She didn't have the strength to do more than hold them weakly, but Fenris didn't pull away, staying right where he was as she fell back asleep.

* * *

><p>As soon as Seren was asleep again, Fenris fled the room and raced back to his own cell. He stood, shaking, in the center of the small space, feeling his eyes burn as his vision went blurry.<p>

He had hoped. Even with his own experiences, knowing what had been done to Seren in the most intimate way possible, he had still hoped that it would have been different for her. That somehow some of who she had been would have remained. That when she saw him, she would have remembered something.

There was no hope anymore. Seren was gone.

His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, jaw clenched tight against the pain that welled in his chest, greater than any physical agony he had ever known. Fenris had lost her. He had lost the only person he had ever loved—and he knew now that he truly did love her, now that it was too late to do anything about it.

And he had never told her.

Fenris knew that on some level Seren had to have known how he felt. She saw parts of him that he hadn't been aware he had, let alone shown to anyone else. She knew he had cared, but she was the one who said the words, who admitted how she really felt. In the end, he been been too unsure, too afraid to give voice to his feelings. Now it was too late and he would regret that until the day he died.

Slowly, he calmed himself, wiping the few tears that had escaped from his cheeks. Seren was gone. He had to accept that. In her place was Leto and she would need his help more than Seren ever had. She would be lost and confused and helpless until she learned what she needed to and Fenris would not allow her to go through that alone. It would be his last gift to Seren, fulfilling the promise he had made not to leave her alone in this wretched place.

He put away the memories they had made—training together, letters and words traced in sand, the sound of rain as they kissed for the first time, and so much more—where they couldn't hurt him, tucking them beside the fragments of a life that he only saw in his dreams. That was two lives he had lost now, both to the cruelty of Danarius's need for more power, and there wasn't enough blood in Minrathous to pay him back for all the pain he had caused.

Fenris rose to his feet. He would eat and bathe and rest. And then he would begin teaching Leto what she needed to know to survive.

* * *

><p>After a few more days in the healing room, as Leto learned it was called, she was feeling stronger. She still hurt, the lyrium strange and uncomfortable in her skin, but the most acute pain was fading as her flesh healed. Fenris spent most of each day with her, teaching her what she needed to know—how to treat their master, his apprentice, other magisters and the rest of the slaves in the household. Several times, she found herself wondering why he had to teach her these things. Everything else came as second nature; dressing and feeding herself, handing the small weapons and bits of armor Fenris let her familiarize herself with, even speaking both the common tongue and Tevene. If she were a slave, then shouldn't this come as naturally to her as the rest of it did?<p>

She asked once and only once. Fenris's already impassive face had shuttered so completely that she knew better than to ask again.

One morning, Fenris entered and motioned for her to rise. "Where are we going?" Leto asked, curious.

"Danarius wishes to see you," he replied. "You need to be made presentable."

Seren looked down at herself. The short, sleeveless tunic she wore was threadbare and showed having been worn for a few days and she knew her hair was probably a mess. Washing off with a towel and lukewarm water did a fair job of making sure she wasn't filthy, but the chance to be truly clean again was something she looked forward to.

Silently, he led her through the halls until they stepped into a room, a large tub of steaming water set against the back wall, a few benches set around it. Fenris picked a basket off the floor and handed it to her. Leto peered inside, grinning when she saw the soft washcloths and bar of fragrant soap. Fenris showed her how to draw pails of water and wash up outside the tub, in order to keep the water clean. Leto scrubbed herself down as hard as she dared, sighing as she upended buckets of hot water over her head. Fenris stayed by the door, though he kept his eyes averted as she bathed herself. Leto felt the brief, fleeting urge to get his attention, but it vanished almost instantly. Fenris didn't seem like the type to be amused by such an antic.

Taking the largest towel from the basket, she dried herself quickly. She glanced down at the tunic she'd set down on a bench. "Am I supposed to put that back on?" she asked.

Fenris just shook his head and took a bundle from another basket, handing it to her without comment and while still keeping his eyes away from her. Leto bit her lip, wondering at his behavior. He'd tended to her and had seen her naked. Why look away now? Shaking her head slightly, she set the bunch down on a bench and began to sort through it. She slipped the smallclothes on, stroking over the soft linen for a moment before shaking out the other thin linen garments. There was a low-cut shift and a pair of pants. She pulled both on and tucked the shift into the pants before lacing the pants up. Though the material was thin, it was close-fitting. Not enough to bind, but it definitely wasn't loose or baggy.

The next garment was a pair of black leather breeches. She carefully tugged them on, stopping to smooth out the linen pants as she went, and laced them. Then came a vest of the same black leather. She shrugged it on, carefully doing up the numerous small buckles that pulled it tight across her torso. Lastly, Fenris handed her a pair of socks and boots that she slipped on, stamping her feet a little to settle them before looking up at him.

"Sit," he instructed, pointing at a bench. She sat, wondering what he was doing as he moved around behind her, and then started at the touch of a comb against her scalp. Fenris combed her hair, patiently working out all the tangles, and then pulled it back high on her again, arranging it in some sort of braid. When he stepped back, she reached out with one hand to touch it. It felt perfect and she looked at him for a long moment, noticing the way he refused to meet her gaze, busying himself with gathering up all the dirty linens.

Leto might not know much, might not be able to remember anything from her parts, but she could tell the difference between someone doing something because they had to and doing something because they wanted to. Whatever it was that Fenris wasn't telling her—and she guessed that it was a lot—he knew her. They knew each other, and more importantly, he didn't look at her as just a duty or a burden.

With everything all cleaned up, he gestured to the hall. "Follow me," he said curtly, leading her up into the mansion. Leto looked around as they went, trying to hide her awe at the riches displayed. Danarius had to be quite wealthy and powerful to live like this. They stopped before a set of ornate double doors. Fenris hesitated and glanced back over his shoulder at her. "Follow my lead," he instructed quietly. "Danarius is your master, remember that."

Leto barely managed a nod before Fenris knocked and then opened the doors. She followed him inside, waiting as he closed the door, and then over to stand in front of an even more ornate desk. Leto glanced over at Fenris, mimicking his posture; back and shoulders straight, but head bowed slightly, hands clasped behind her back. As they waited, she surreptitiously glanced around the room. If she'd thought the hallways and rooms they'd come through before had spoken of wealth, they paled in comparison to what she saw now. There was enough wealth in this single room to provide a life for her family for years, if not decades.

Before she could wonder at the strange thought, the man seated behind the desk shifted, finally looking up at them. Leto glanced up at him and fought the instinct to recoil. Danarius was old, hair and beard gray. His skin had a sallow tone to it, his cheeks were sunken, and his ears were oddly crumpled at the tips. She jerked her gaze away before he could notice it and her reaction to seeing him.

"So, she's awake." Danarius pushed his chair back and rose, coming around the desk to inspect her. She held still while he circled her, fighting down her revulsion at having him so close. "She's healing well. She should be ready to resume training, correct?"

Fenris hesitated only briefly before nodding. "Yes, though I would advise waiting for her to heal completely before she learns how to use the lyrium."

Danarius smiled indulgently. "Of course. Your expertise in this matter is most appreciated, my pet."

He waved his hand, dismissing them. "See that she's ready then, and let me know when she's ready to use her new abilities. I want to be present for that."

Leto flicked her eyes over to Fenris. New abilities? He didn't look at her, and she knew that he wouldn't say anything now, but later, when she could get him alone, he was going to explain what was going on.

Fenris bowed, shooting her a sharp look, and she quickly followed suit, following him out of the study. Once the door closed behind him, he relaxed just a bit, a small fraction of the tension falling from his shoulders. Leto was about to ask what they were going to do when he shook his head faintly and looked at her. "Come. We've neglected your training long enough. You need to be in proper form is Danarius is make use of you."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she didn't _want_ Danarius to make use of her, but she held the words back. They would do no good, not now. She would have to wait and…. Her thoughts trailed off. Wait for what? She barely knew her own name; she was hardly in a position to protest what happened to her. So why did she feel like she should be doing something? That now was finally her chance? Her chance to do what?

A touch on her wrist startled her and she jerked her head over to stare at Fenris. He watched her, almost sadly, for a moment before he drew his hand back. "Come," he said again, softer. "Some fresh air will do you good."

He turned smoothly on the ball of his foot and walked down the hallway they'd come up. Her heart clenched at the sight of him walking away, and before she could think about what she was doing, she hurried to catch up to him, falling into step beside him. They didn't speak as they walked through the halls and outside, and Leto was glad. The thought of Fenris walking away from her, of _leaving_ her, filled her with anxiety. She wanted to ask why, but she already knew he wouldn't answer if she did.

For now, she needed bide her time until she could figure out what exactly was going on, and how to make the best of it.

7


	12. Chapter 12

In the training yard, Leto faded and some of what Seren had been shone through. She was there in the curve a smile, the arch of brow. Though she couldn't remember how she had learned, her training was all still there, and she fell into it naturally. Those times were the hardest for Fenris, to watch her come alive, and still only be a shade of what she had been. In those moments, he wanted to shake her, to demand that she remember who she was, and always he pushed the feelings aside. It got no easier as the weeks turned into months. A look, a gesture, a word could have him turning terse and irritable. He knew that it confused Leto, that it seemed to hurt her, but he couldn't help it. Around others, at least, he managed to hide behind the stoney facade he'd long used. Even Danarius seemed to accept that his feelings had subsided. That, or he no longer took such delight in tormenting Fenris with it, which seemed unlikely. But around Leto, he seemed incapable of hiding how he truly felt.

And of course, as soon as Leto displayed her competence into the ring, Danarius demanded that she be shown how to use her markings. It was a difficult process. Learning was a matter of will more than anything else, and there was no way for Fenris to show or explain it properly. Trial and error was the only way to go about it, and progress was slow. Eventually, when she learned to call upon the power of the lyrium at will, he had her practice her endurance, keeping the markings activated as long as she could. The sensation was something he had learned to love with. It wasn't painful, nor was it pleasant. Leto seemed to feel the same way; she was always jittery and nervous after she'd used them for a long time, moving like her skin didn't fit right. It was something Fenris was long familiar with, and he'd never found anything to help with it, so he could offer no recourse.

Watching her allowed him to observe her markings in all their terrible glory. Had they been obtained any other way that blood and agony and death, he might have found the markings beautiful. The followed the curves and lines of her body in twisting, sinuous patterns. Unlike himself, Danarius had left her face unmarked, the only sign of the lyrium above her collarbones being the thin lines that ran up the back of her neck into her hair, like trailing claw marks. The lines of lyrium on her hands were also thinner than his, most likely to limit restrictions on her dexterity. The rest were hidden from sight most of the time, and for that he was glad. It meant he could look at her without having their loss rubbed in his face.

Unfortunately, Leto's increasing control meant her training was stepped up yet again. She had to learn to use her body as the weapon it was. For that, Fenris waited until the evenings, when they would be undisturbed, and he held the lessons in his cell, for further privacy.

"I'm going to learn my abilities here?" she asked skeptically, looking around the tiny room.

"Yes. We'll begin with a demonstration.' He positioned her so that she was facing him, arms by her side. "Hold still," he cautioned. "Try not to move."

Leto nodded, watching curious as he lit his own markings. She kept watching as he moved one hand toward her, held low. He hesitated for a moment before sliding his hand slowly into her belly, doing the best he could to be gentle.

She gasped, eyes going wide, but otherwise didn't move. "This is what you must learn," he explained.

"It's so strange," she whispered. "I can feel you inside me."

Abruptly, he pulled his hand free, the room dimming as he released his control, turning away to compose himself. "It may seem simple, but it's a difficult task to master, as is learning to use it as an attack. We will practice as often as we can. Practice with cloth for now, so that you don't hurt yourself." When she didn't respond, he made himself look over his shoulder at her. "You may go," he said shortly, turning away once more.

There was no sound of movement, no indication she'd followed his dismissal. He waited, hands clenching into fists.

"What do I make you so angry?"

Not expecting the soft question, he turned to look at her. "What?"

"You're always angry at me," she explained softly, her voice pained. "And I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Whatever it is, please just tell me. If you don't like me, that's fine, but I don't understand the anger. What am I doing that makes you hate me?"

Struggling for an answer, he looked away again. "My apologies. It's…. You're not doing anything wrong. I don't hate you. You just...remind me of someone I used to know. You're...a lot like her."

"Did you lose her?"

He closed his eyes. "Yes."

"Did you...love her?"

Let the truth damn him now, it didn't matter anymore. He nodded. "More than she ever knew."

She stepped closer, resting one hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. "I'm sure she knew," she reassured him.

Fenris turned, opening his eyes to look at her, desperately searching for some sign that she was hinting at something miraculous. But no. The only thing shining in her eyes was honest sympathy and sincerity. That was perhaps the one good thing about Leto, that the bitterness Seren had had was gone. But he'd take that soon enough from her, wouldn't he?

He shrugged slightly, dislodging her hand. "We will continue this tomorrow. You should rest well tonight, tomorrow will be a long day."

She grinned, trying to summon some levity. "Aren't they all?" she asked wryly. When he didn't respond, her smile faltered and dimmed. "I understand. Good night, Fenris."

He didn't respond and after several moments, she turned and left quietly.

* * *

><p>The sensation of sliding her hand into a solid object was something Leto could never describe. She tried, tries putting words to what she felt, but the right words didn't seem to exist. Fenris wasn't of much help either. He showed her what to do, but had no interest in discussing it.<p>

She glanced over where he stood off the side, watching as she practiced on various objects and materials. At least he wasn't so angry anymore. Or maybe he was just doing a better job of hiding it. In any case, she was glad. Having him mad at her hurt, deep inside, though she didn't know why. She wondered at the woman he had loved and lost. He seemed so alone; losing his love had to have been hard on him. He was the closest thing Leto had to a friend, and she often found herself pathetically grateful for the times when he would talk to her without his usual anger and resentment.

He noticed her looking and cocked an eyebrow. Leto immediately looked away and went back to practicing, but it was too late. He was already crossing over to her. "Enough," he muttered, pulling her away. "I doubt there's anything left for you to learn there. We'll practice on living things."

Fenris pulled her to the center of the outdoor training area and then stood in front of her, less than an arm's length away. The day was overcast and gray, unusual from what she'd seen, and it left Fenris looking washed out and worn thin, like he wasn't quite there, like he might simply fade away into nothingness.

She snapped back to attention when his markings glowed, the strange clutch of fear that had been building with her thoughts pushed down for the moment. "I will show you what to do, and then you shall repeat the actions with me," he instructed her. Then he slid his hand through her arm.

They practiced for a long time, sticking to body parts they were less likely to injure should something go wrong. When the sky grew even dimmer, he finally stopped and allowed them to end training for the day. Leto was grateful. Unlike blade work, she found this dull and repetitive. She followed him inside and to the kitchen, where Mera served them silently, eyes averted. Leto had tried to engage the women, but like all the slaves, it had been useless.

She sighed to herself, eating quickly in the silent kitchen, finishing before Fenris. She thanked Mera, as always, and made her way back to her room, stretching out on the low bed and hoping sleep would come quickly.

The next day, they resumed training, and Fenris felt confident enough to let her phase her hand into more than his arm and leg. She hesitated, though, before sliding her hand into his chest. Frowning hard, she felt something tug at her mind, like a shadow of a memory. She looked up. "This is a weapon, right?"

"Yes."

"So teaching me to do this," she let the tip of fingers just poke into his chest, "is so I can hurt people."

Fenris shook his head. "No, it's so that you can kill people."

Seren sucked in a sharp breath. "That sounds...messy."

"It is," he agreed gravely. "Danarius prefers to be presented the hearts of his foes."

She blanched, pulling away and letting her arm fall. "You rip people's hearts out?"

"You will, too," he replied coolly.

Despite wanting to protest, Leto knew Fenris was right. What Danarius wanted, Danarius got. She swallowed. "Fine," she muttered. "Then show me."

It wasn't pleasant, for either of them. Leto recoiled at the feeling of a heart in her hands, and Fenris grimaced at the sensation. The training was short and difficult for both of them, and Leto was shaking by the time Fenris decided they'd had enough for the day.

* * *

><p>When there was nothing really left for Fenris to teach, Leto, he informed Danarius that she was ready. His master merely nodded and dismissed him to inform her that she would begin work as his bodyguard soon.<p>

Fenris was…_concerned_ that Danarius hadn't asked for a demonstration of her prowess. He recalled his own, being commanded to tear the heart of of a slave to prove his skills. Perhaps since Danarius already knew it was possible, he didn't need to see Leto do it. If that was the case, he was glad. There was enough of Seren left over that he knew Leto would balk at the command. Already he could see her discomfort with the way things were, with how the slaves were treated around the estate. She hadn't said or done anything, but he could see the discontent growing within her.

So Leto was given her own armor, dark, buttery soft leather that molded to her form. It was reinforced and worked with enchantments. She preened a little, admiring the way it looked on her, and she tested her flexibility, pleased with how easy it was to move around in it. Fenris envied her her enjoyment, there had been no such thing for him when he'd been given his armor.

And she was beautiful in it. From afar, he could admire the way the dark leather looked against her pale skin, the way it made her eyes seem brighter. And when her markings were mostly hidden, he could imagine, if only for a moment, that she could simply walk away from all this and be free.

But it was, of course, impossible. Danarius appeared soon enough to take them into the city, to flaunt his wealth and power in front of the other magisters by showing off his pets. Leto's smile was always hidden in Danarius's presence, but out in the city, seeing how everyone around looked at her, he saw the light dim in her eyes. There was no longer any enjoyment for her in this, and he was sorry to watch her realize that.

* * *

><p>Fenris should have known that they weren't going to escape Danarius's cruelty that easily. Clearly, what Fenris had seen in Leto was something Danarius had also seen. It wasn't that he didn't want to see her use her abilities, he wanted to back her into a corner, to put her into a situation where she couldn't refuse.<p>

The attack on Danarius had been clumsy and inexpert. Fenris wouldn't have been surprised to learn the man was a thrall, under the influence of blood magic. Leto disarmed his easily, pinning him to the ground with little effort. She looked up at Danarius, who gestured to her. "Well, go on."

Leto blinked. "What do you want me to do?" she asked hesitantly.

Danarius sighed. "He tried to kill your master, you should know what to do. But if you must be told…. Show me his heart."

Her eyes went wide and she looked around, but there was no way out from this. Lowering her head in defeat, she let her markings flare.

At least she made it quick, Fenris noted, looking down at the lump of flesh in front of Danarius's feet and not at her. She was silent as she took up her position behind Danarius, blood still dripping from her hand. She remained silent after even after they returned to the estate, heading immediately to the baths and later refusing all food.

She was different after that, quiet and withdrawn. Fenris grew accustomed to seeing her solemn face, and it proved nearly impossible to engage her in anything. He gave up trying after a while, leaving her to the silences she preferred and retreating into his own.

It was lonely to be so isolated again, made worse now by the fact that he knew what he was missing, what could have been like. He took what solace he could from the fact that life was somewhat better now. Hadriana's training had been increased, keeping her far too busy to taunt either of them, and Danarius's increasing plays for power meant that he wasted little effort in reminding them of their place at his feet.

But it wasn't enough to make him stop feeling empty.

* * *

><p>The days passed, bleeding into each other in a numbing haze of monotony. Leto watched as if outside herself. She couldn't get the memory of the man she killed out of her mind, couldn't help but feel the dying beats of his heart in her hand. The wrongness of it burned inside her, killing her a little more each day. She noted Fenris's halting attempts to reach out to her, but she couldn't make herself respond. Bizarrely, she felt as if she'd let him down, as if her actions had wronged him in some way.<p>

And instead of abating, the grief and despair continued to build. During the day, she forced herself to ignore it, but at night when she was alone, she wrapped herself in it, sinking down into it where nothing else could bother her. And there she stayed until the morning, when she had to get up again.

* * *

><p>The roll of thunder woke Leto and she turned to look out her tiny window, noting the flash of lightning. Muttering, she turned back over, pulling her light blanket tighter around herself, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. However, sleep eluded her. The sound of the storm wasn't unpleasant, rather the opposite. And it tugged at her. Each time she closed her eyes, they snapped back open. Finally, she sat up, watching the window.<p>

There was something about the rain, something that she should know. She closed her eyes and concentrated. What was it? What was she missing?

The answer came slow and unclear. Vague flashes of being outside, of a woman's voice calling her to come inside. What struck her, though, was the name being called wasn't "Leto." She couldn't quite make out what it was, but when she opened her eyes, she was sure of one thing.

Her name wasn't Leto.


	13. Chapter 13

AN: So...I really need to get some stories done. I'm going to try and push through and get this and Mistakes finished as quickly as I can. I apologize if the plot and/or characterizations seem a little off. That's my fault for taking too much time in between chapters. Hopefully, you still like it.

* * *

><p>Knowing that Leto wasn't her name, didn't actually help Leto figure out what her true name was. No matter how she tried to remember, how many names she turned over in her mind that night, nothing felt right. With no other choice, she'd continue to use it, until she could find out the truth. Even with that frustration, though, thing were more clear. The sense of wrongness that had been growing since she'd killed the man who'd attacked Danarius was magnified, but the despair, the hopelessness was gone. In its place was anger, sharp and biting. It was a welcome change. She felt more alert, steadier, like she had purpose. More than just her name had been taken from her. Her life, her memories...they'd been stolen and she was going to do everything she could to get them back.<p>

The next morning, she was careful not to let anything show. She dressed and ate and attended to Danarius, guarding her thoughts throughout the days as she observed everything with a new purpose. Whatever had been done, Leto knew that Danarius was responsible. There was too much pride when he displayed her and Fenris to his rivals, when he talked about them like objects. He knew exactly what had been done to her, what had been taken. However, it quickly became clear that Danarius would not be much help. He didn't talk to them beyond giving them orders, or occasionally mocking them with arrogant, biting comments. As much as she wanted to beat him until he confessed, that would never happen.

Given how the other slaves and guards avoided them, that left her with only Fenris to tease information from. Clearly, whatever had been done to her had also been done to him. Leto had to assume that he was in the same position, his memories stolen just as hers had been. Had he remembered anything, or was he completely cut off from his past? Coming right out and asking him would be pointless, though. He was closed off, taciturn to the point of surliness, and she knew that he wouldn't share something so monumental when he barely spoke to her as it was.

He knew _something_, of that she was certain. Maybe they could figure this out together. She was going to have to approach him carefully, to get him to trust her enough to open up. Although….

Leto frowned, staring up through the darkness at the ceiling. She felt like getting Fenris to trust her should be easy because she already trusted him. She wasn't sure why. Yes, Fenris trained her, and she trusted him to be competent about that, but there was something more to it. There was no one on the estate she could say she even remotely trusted. Everyone was a threat to be considered. But Fenris? She wouldn't hesitate to put him at her back. Already, she let her guard down around him when they ate and bathed. For all the strength and the violence in him, she had never had any fear of his anger, not even when it had been misplaced and inexplainable.

All right. So she trusted Fenris. And she already knew she disliked seeing him upset. What did that mean? Had they been friends before her memories had been taken? Something more? She rubbed her eyes. This was the worst part of not being able to remember. Someone she could have known well was standing right in front of her and she couldn't remember anything beyond the vaguest of feelings.

With nothing else to go on, she had to believe what she felt. And what she felt was that she trusted Fenris. Asking him anything might lead to a dead end, but she knew he wouldn't go running to Danarius about it. She would have to ask, and let the consequences fall as they may.

* * *

><p>Fenris couldn't say when Leto changed, only that it was subtle enough that it took him a few days to notice. The melancholy that had gripped her seemed to have vanished and in its place was…. He didn't know what to call it. She was still quiet, still withdrawn, but instead of there simply being nothing there, he could see her mind working. When she gazed off into the distance, it was like she was seeing something, not just losing focus.<p>

It worried him. Seren had struggled with her place, had earned herself a death sentence in fighting against something that was inevitable. If Leto was returning to that, if she began to fight the way Seren had fought, then Danarius's wrath would be unimaginable. And this time, there would be nothing Fenris could do.

He didn't know if he could lose her again.

Fenris began watching her more closely, hoping to prevent a disaster before it began. But whatever he feared would happen never came to pass. She obeyed when Danarius gave orders, kept her gaze down and her voice civil. She was the very model of obedience and Fenris didn't believe it for a moment.

He'd seen Danarius looking at her thoughtfully a few times. He didn't think their master believed it either.

Aside from the worry that caused, what bothered him most, though, was when he would catch her looking at him. It was like she could see into him, she through his facade and expose thoughts that not even Danarius could pry free. But she never said anything. She just watched him for long moments and then turned away. He wanted to know what she was thinking, but he couldn't think of what to ask. The wrong question could very well do more harm than good.

The decision was taken out of his hands one day when they were retiring for the evening. They were in the baths, washing away the sweat of the day when Leto spoke from behind him. "Fenris?"

Fenris paused in drying himself. "What?"

"Did you train me?"

Eyes narrowed, he twisted around to look at her, glad that she had a towel—as small as it was—wrapped around her. She wasn't looking at him, instead standing behind a bench, eyes cast down, brow furrowed in thought. "You know I did," he said.

"No." She shook her head. She held one hand up on front of her, flexing it slowly. "I mean, before _this_." She looked up and met his gaze. "Did you train me?"

Swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat, Fenris struggled for how to respond. Finally, he decided on the truth. "Not entirely. You already had some training before Danarius bought you."

Leto nodded slowly, eyes going lost in thought again for a moment. "Were we friends?" she asked suddenly as he started to turn back around.

"_What_?" he asked sharply, tension making him snap to awareness, a thread of fear running down his spine.

"Were we friends, before this?" She flexed her hand again.

Again, the truth would suffice here, though it would cut more cruelly than his previous answer. "No," he said harshly. "We weren't _friends_."

Was that disappointment on her face? She smiled a little sadly. "That's too bad. I think we could have been good friends."

How was he to respond to that? He turned away, shoving his legs into his pants and tugging a loose shirt over his head. He gathered he his dirty clothes and stalked past her. "We weren't. There is no room for such liabilities. Not here. Not in Tevinter."

"You think friendship is a liability?"

He stopped in the doorway, refusing to turn around. "We are slaves. Caring about anyone beside yourself is always a liability. There is no point in loving what will only be taken away."

"So it's better not to love?" she asked, the words rushed.

Fenris ground his teeth together, muscles in his jaw aching. "Yes," he growled, and strode down the hall before she could ask another damning question.

* * *

><p>It was in dreams that Leto remembered more. It was never very much—flashes of faces without names, places that were familiar though she recognized nothing—and left her feeling lost within her own mind. She couldn't force memories to come, and it seemed the more she tried to hold on, the faster they slipped through her grasp, like sand in a clenched fist. It was frustrating to be be torn from a dream and wake when she was just on the cusp of understanding, when a few heartbeats more would have given her something useful. Some days it seemed like she would never remember, but she refused to give up. Each time, she managed to remember just a little more when she awoke. It was a paltry amount compared to a lifetime of memories, but it was more than she'd begun with. The knowledge was there, locked in her mind, and she wouldn't let it be kept from her.<p>

Asking Fenris those questions had been a mistake, of sorts. In their wake, he'd been completely closed off, only speaking to her when absolutely necessary, and otherwise ignoring her completely. But she'd had no choice. Of the few faces in her dreams, his was the only one she recognized. She had to know why. His reaction had given her an answer, even if she didn't know what it meant yet. At least it showed that there was something there, that she hadn't been wrong in her suspicions. She would give him space for now, and see if anything more came to her in her dreams.

Some nights, the memories seemed closer than others, and it took her a while to understand why. The nights when she came closest to remembering were always nights it rained. Leto was baffled by the connection. Of all things to trigger memories, rain appeared to be random. Did it have something to do with the ritual that took her memories? Or was it something else, a connection even more tenuous? Regardless, rain wasn't something that could be controlled, so she was left waiting, hoping that the clouds above would darken and give her a helping hand. She had little else to go on.

Otherwise, she simply focused on getting through each day. Outside of training, the hours were boring, full of simply standing and guarding Danarius. Even at the grandest banquets, when there was music and entertainment, she could take no enjoyment of it, not when deplorable suffering and cruelty was served beside exquisite food and drink. And outside of that one botched attempt, Danarius had never even come close to so much as stubbing a toe, let alone be attacked. Perhaps he had once truly needed a bodyguard, but she doubted that she and Fenris were anything other than living proof of Danarius's power now.

And show them off he did. More than once, she or Fenris had been stripped down for the benefit of one of Danarius's peers, so they could marvel over what he had wrought. Fenris did it stoically, with the same expressionless reserve that he did everything Danarius asked, but Leto still felt embarrassed when she was ordered, unease twisting in her gut as she followed orders.

The current gala was much the same as any of the others, though Danarius didn't see fit to have them collared and leashed tonight. They stood behind him, one at either shoulder, listening with half an ear as they watched the rest of the party-goers for any threats.

It was Danarius's soft, patronizing laugh that drew her attention back to him. "I assure you, they are like nothing you have seen before." He snapped his fingers. "Fenris."

Fenris stepped forward, bending low at the waist so Danarius would not have to look up at him. "Magister Octavian wishes to see my pets display their abilities. Arrange a demonstration with Leto. No weapons."

"Yes, Master," Fenris replied and stepped back. He stopped a nearby slaves and gave a few quiet orders, sending the girl scurrying off. Within moments, other slaves were rushing to clear an area, the commotion attracting attention from most of the other guests. Leto caught Fenris's gaze and he jerked his head, motioning her to the side. "Disarm" he muttered as soon as they were out of earshot. He removed his sword, propping it against a wall and began to remove his gauntlets. Leto quickly followed suit, divesting herself of her daggers.

They removed the bulk of their armor, leaving them able to move more freely as well as showing off more of the markings. "Give them a show," Fenris said quietly. "Use your markings, but try to avoid causing injury." He set the last of his armor and stood, waiting for her

"Is this a good idea?" she whispered as she finished, looking at those gathered to watch.

Fenris scoffed, following her gaze. "Hardly, but that's not for us to decide. If Danarius has decided to risk this, then he thinks the benefits outweigh the risks." He hesitated, looking back to her and then his expression tightened. "Don't hold back. Better an unintended injury than putting on a poor display."

"Is everything ready, Fenris?" Danarius called.

"Yes, Master," Fenris said smoothly, stepping out in the area that had been cleared, Leto two steps behind him. They took up positions facing each other. Leto settled her weight on the balls of her feet, knees bent slightly, ready to spring. Across from her, Fenris's stance was more grounded. She was the faster of the two, more flexible, but he had strength and stamina on her. In a real fight, she would have needed to bring him down quickly if she wanted to win, But here….

She moved first, sweeping her leg low in an attempt to bring him down. He dodged easily and retaliated, trying to pin her, unsuccessfully. After that, it quickly became like one of their training sessions. Strained relations between them or not, they were still well matched. They trained together every day, and knew each other almost as well as they knew themselves. Openings were left and others taken, drawing out the fight. It was physical, moreso than they usually were. To herself, Leto could admit that Fenris was breathtaking like this, face set in concentration, markings making him glow with an otherworldly light.

They couldn't last forever, though. Maybe there was some signal she missed, because suddenly Fenris came at her for real. Unprepared, she didn't react quickly enough and found herself pinned to the floor, both wrists pinned in Fenris's hands and his right forearm pressing heavily against her throat. She panted for air against the constriction, trying to free herself. Fenris pressed tighter, until she finally went still beneath him, desperate for air. Only then did he ease his arm up, just enough for her to draw breath. She couldn't help drawing in a shuddering breath. None of their sessions had ever ended this way. For the first time, she honestly believed Fenris would harm her if Danarius ordered it.

Around them, the quiet hall burst into sudden applause, many voices congratulating Danarius and offering their compliments. Still, Fenris didn't move. His head was bowed, white hair obscuring his face from her view. He held himself absolutely still above, his entire body tense.

"Fen—" He cut off the rest of his night by pressing down again, and she choked back the words she wanted to say.

"All right, Fenris, you've proven your point. Let her up."

At Danarius's command, Fenris smoothly rolled to his feet. Leto followed a heartbeat later, slightly less gracefully. He bowed to Danarius and she copied him. Danarius was smiling, pleased with their performance. "It seems my little wolf can still best my little bird," he chuckled. "You may resume your duties."

Fenris turned on his heel, jerking his head at her to follow. Leto watched him, but he wouldn't look at her, keeping his eyes averted. "Did I miss something?" she hissed as they re-armed themselves, still shaken by his actions.

"Clearly," he snapped under his breath.

Irritation rising inside her, she jerked a gauntlet on. "Want to tell me what? You didn't have to choke me."

Fenris snorted and muttered something that sounded like "foolish."

"What is your problem?" she grated. "You choked me and you're angry at me for it? That wasn't necessary."

"Did you want him to order us to fuck in the middle of the hall? One magister suggested that just before I ended the fight." He finally looked at her, face tight with suppressed anger.

Leto felt the blood drain from her face, along with her anger. "He wouldn't…."

Fenris laughed without humor. "He has with other slaves before, we would not be the first."

She didn't know what to say. What gain could there possibly be in Danarius forcing his two bodyguards to have sex in front of a hall full of magisters. "But that seems so stupid. He'd risk that just to impress a few magisters?" Belatedly, she looked around, realizing how careless their conversation might be. But there was no one close, slaves and guests a like giving them a wide berth.

Lips twisting, Fenris turned away. "Not just to impress them," he said lowly. Before she could ask anything else, he picked up his sword and strapped it to his back. "Come," he said. "Best not to keep our master waiting any longer."

With no other choice, Leto quickly finished tying her own weapons on and hurried after him to take their customary places watching over Danarius.


	14. Chapter 14

Fenris did not sleep well that night, despite feeling utterly drained. He lay on his cot, reliving the events of the evening, dwelling on what could have so easily happened. In truth, he did not think it likely that Danarius would have ordered them to fuck, but it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. If he thought it would have earned him some sort of advantage, Danarius would have done it without a second thought. Yet, that was not what haunted Fenris.

It was the knowledge that, if Danarius commanded it, Fenris would have raped Leto in front of a hall full of magisters.

The thought made him sick. Angry at Danarius for what he'd done to them, but more disgusted with himself. He'd told Seren that he wouldn't abandon her, that he would stay to help her, but in the end what good was he? None.

In all his years of being owned by Danarius, he'd always thought it better to survive, better to live no matter the hardship and pain. Seren hadn't agreed, had preferred death to slavery. Now, he was beginning to see why she might have thought that. It might be a kindness to give Leto the death Seren had sought, before Danarius destroyed the parts of her that had managed to survive the ritual. And then there would be nothing left to keep him going, nothing left for Danarius to hurt either of them with.

But even as the thought came to him, Fenris knew he wouldn't do it. Seren had preferred a death on her own terms, but she had never stopped fighting, stopped planning to escape. He couldn't bring himself to extinguish the last sparks of hope, even if they were just a memory now.

He rolled over, curling his arms around his head, praying for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>It was frustrating how quickly things between the two of them could change. Leto had thought they were making progress, but after the gala, Fenris was as withdrawn as ever. While she hadn't heard what he'd claimed to, she didn't doubt him. Fenris wasn't the type to lie or exaggerate. In fact, he was painfully honest, even if everyone around them failed to see it.<p>

If Danarius had ordered them to fuck…. It would not have been something Leto chose to do, but the thought didn't fill her with a sense of horror. It wasn't that he was attractive—she felt vaguely guilty for some of the thoughts she'd had about him—or that he was the closest thing to a friend she had. There was just _something_ about him. It didn't seem rational, but she knew he wouldn't hurt her, not if he had any choice. And if he was forced to, she knew it would hurt him as well. Whatever she felt about Danarius, she had no hesitation when it came to trusting Fenris.

The way he blew cold and hot, though, was an issue she didn't know how to solve. As the days and weeks following the gala passe,d he remained distant. It was worse than he'd first been because then she hadn't known he could be any different. The only thing she could think was that he had been disturbed by what happened and was trying to make sure Danarius didn't get any ideas. For now, she would give him space and hope that he would come around.

Without him, though, things were quite boring. Leto found herself spending more and more time in the kitchen. The cook, Mera, was clearly scared of her, but not as much as every other slave in the household. She didn't protest when Leto spend long hours there, and eventually—after much pleading—began letting her help. Peeling and cutting vegetables, kneading bread dough, turning meat on the spit. Leto didn't especially like cooking, but she hated the long hour of being idle more.

When the sky dawned gray one morning, she didn't think anything of it. She went through her morning routine of getting breakfast followed by stretching and solo training, then cleaning and caring for her armor and weapons, and lastly a quick bath before going to the kitchen for lunch.

She wasn't even aware that it was raining until she stepped into the hallway that was open to the outside. She grinned as she walked, enjoying the sound of it. Just before she got to the kitchen, she stopped in an archway to watch it. It was pouring out, and if it kept up, even the packed earth of the training grounds would turn to mud. She made a face, turning to continue to the kitchen. That was would a nightmare to practice in, not to mention all the mud that would be tracked inside and need to be cleaned up.

She stopped. Then turned back to look out into the yard, frowning. Hesitantly, she reach out, letting the strike splash against her hand and arm. Startled, she drew it back, frowning even more in confusion. Why has she expected it to be cold? Everything about Tevinter was warm, even the rain. She knew that. So why….

Leto blinked. And stepped outside.

* * *

><p>"Fenris…" The name was whispered, so low he almost didn't hear it. Fenris turned around, eyes narrowing as he saw Mera. It was highly unusual for her to venture into this part of the estate. In fact, Fenris didn't think he'd ever seen her outside of the kitchen.<p>

"What?" he asked. She looked behind her, hands twisting together in agitation. She looked back at him, clearly fearful. "Well?" he asked impatiently.

"You...you need to come," she said, voice still low. "Th-There's something wrong...you need to find her before the master does…."

Instantly, Fenris snapped to attention. "Leto?" Mera nodded frantically. "Show me," he snapped quietly, wary of drawing any unwanted attention.

Mera led him hurriedly through the halls, still casting furtive looks around them as they went. "I don't know how long she's been out there," she whispered as they got nearer the kitchens. She stopped before the archway that led to the training grounds outside and gestured.

Standing on the hard packed ground was Leto, completely soaked from the sheets of rain that had been pouring down all day. For a moment, the scene was overlayed by another, and he could almost see the garden that she had been in the last time he'd found her this way. But unlike then, there was no sense of peace or wonder about her as she stood there. Instead of looking up at the sky, her head was bent down. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, every line in her body tense.

As much as Fenris didn't want to find out what was going on, Mera was right. Leto couldn't be left there. The behavior was too strange, too much of an aberration. If Danarius saw her….

"Go," he told Mera gruffly. "I'll deal with this." He waited until she'd retreated to the safety of her kitchen before stepping out into rain. "Leto?" he called as soon as he was close enough. No answer. He tried again as stepped up beside her. 'Leto, what are you doing?"

Not even a twitch, He peered down at her face, taken aback by her wide open eyes, staring unseeing at the ground. Her expression was odd, as well. Not angry or shocked, but strangely tense, a little too blank to be simply lost in thought. He put a hand on her shoulder, shaking her a little. "Leto!"

That seemed to do something. Slowly, she turned her head, looking first at his hand on her shoulder before letting her gaze travel to his face. Her eyes seemed to focus a little, but the pupils were still too wide, her gaze a little too empty. Fenris felt dread settle deep in his gut. Had Danarius done something to her? Had he finally truly lost her?

"Leto," he said again, cursing himself for the way his voice broke at the end.

She blinked slowly, parted her lips...and said nothing. Cursing, Fenris used his grip on her shoulder to turn her around and push her back toward the mansion. She went, though with no real volition of her own, simply following where he guided her. As quickly as he good, he guided her back toward their quarters and into his room. He pushed her to sit on the edge of his bed and left, risking leaving her alone to get towels and a change of dry clothes for her.

She was in the exact same position when he returned, looking blankly down at the floor again. He didn't think she would listen if he told her to get dried off, so not knowing what else to do, he knelt to begin pulling off her boots and sodden clothes.

"I remember the rain." He'd just dropped her second sock on the ground when he heard the words, faint and confused. Snapping his gaze up, he saw that she wasn't looking at him, but still at the ground.

"It used to rain. In the spring," she continued haltingly. "Moth...M-Mother used to say we brought more mud inside than we left outside."

Fenris's heart lurched. He didn't know if he should say anything or remain quiet. Was she truly regaining her memories? His own remained half-formed things that disturbed his sleep, leaving no rhyme or reason when he woke up. But if Leto—Seren?—was remembering who she was, if she was still _there_….

"It rained when, when Bethy discovered fire," Leto said, voice still quiet, but steadier. Father laughed. Laughed." Her face twisted in anguish, hands balling into fists in her lap. "It rained and Father got sick. It rained and he died." Tears welled up in her eyes, running down her cheeks. "It rained and everyone died. It rained and we ran and—"

She broke off on a sob. Fenris reached for her hands. "Stop. Please, stop."

Maybe it was the touch or the words or both, but she looked at him, truly seeing him. There was something desperate and pleading in the way she looked at him. Her hands twisted underneath his, gripping them tightly. "I know you," she whispered. "I know you, don't I? From before?" Her voice faltered in the end, questioning, unsure and looking for an answer.

And all Fenris had was the truth. "Yes."

She reached out with one hand, smoothing away a lock of wet hair that had fallen over his eye. "What's my name?" she pleaded. "Please, tell me who I am."

This was a terrible risk, but if he let it slip through his fingers, he might never get a chance like this again."

"Seren," he said softly. "Your name is Seren."

She looked away, eye flickering in tiny motions as she processed his answer. After long moments, she looked back at him. "I remember you in the rain," she choked out, hands so tight on his that it hurt. But it was a pain he welcomed gladly.

"Yes," he said again, not wanting to force her out of the moment.

Her hands flexed on his and she squeezed her eyes shut. "I remember faces with names and names without faces," she breathed raggedly. "There are places in my mind and I don't know where they are. I don't even know _if_ they're real. There's too much and not enough and I don't understand it!"

She crumpled completely, collapsing in on herself, desperate sobs catching in her throat. She was falling apart and if she couldn't pull herself together then all of this pain would be for nothing. Fenris shoved himself upright and sat on the bed, pulling her into his arms. He had maybe one chance at this, before everything was lost. "Calm yourself," he ordered, more harshly than he could have, but all it would take was one servant, one guard reporting to Danarius to destroy this chance.

Her breath caught in her throat and she shuddered, working to calm down and keep quiet. And Fenris...just held her, his chest feeling tight. Something that felt a lot like hope was growing inside him, but he ruthlessly crushed it. Seren might never regain anything more than she already had—which was far beyond what Fenris himself had recovered—and that wasn't enough to be useful.

Eventually, she went still in his arms and then pulled back. He let her go, watching as she rubbed a tired hand across her face. When she turned back to him, she looked worn and drained. "_Is_ it real?" she asked. "What I'm remembering. Is it real or just something else Danarius did to fuck with us?"

"It's real."

She shook her head. "How do you do it? I feel like I'm going mad, like nothing makes sense."

He supposed he owe her the truth, though it would be no comfort. "I don't remember," he said quietly. "Not the way you do. What flashes I do have don't even make enough sense to be confusing. He sighed heavily. "I understand this must be difficult, but you must not let Danarius know. Do what you must, but do _not_ let him know."

"I'll try."

"No!" he barked, reaching out to grip her shoulder hard. "You _must not_ let him know, under any circumstance." Her eyes went wide with fear and confusion. "When you begin to remember more, you'll understand, but you need to trust me. He must know nothing of this, or the next time he will make it can never happen again. Do you understand?"

She nodded. Fenris didn't mean to scare her, but he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't lose her, not again, not like that. Jerking to his feet, he grabbed his change of dry clothes. "Get changed," he said, not looking at her as he headed for the baths where he could be alone. He needed time to think.


	15. Chapter 15

Trying to piece back a person from barely remembered fragments of memory was almost an impossible task.

Though she had her name back, Seren couldn't use it. She had to continue to respond to Leto to avoid being discovered. Fenris wouldn't even use it when they were sure they were alone. It was a risk they couldn't afford. She took to whispering it near silently to herself at night, clinging to it like a lifeline.

And she needed it. The returning memories were…. She didn't have the words to describe how they made her feel other than she felt like she was going mad. It felt like two people being jammed together, like too much refuse forced into a bag, not fitting and straining at the seams until she felt like she'd burst. She remembered being Leto, but the more she remembered Seren, the more Leto withered. It was confusing and terrifying. And she no control over when something would cause a memory to resurface. When it did, she had to hide any sign of inner turmoil. No matter how confused she was, how distraught, she couldn't show any of it.

It was in those moments that Seren envied Fenris's inability to truly remember...and then felt immensely guilty for the cruel thought. As hard as this ordeal was, she would never trade the pain of it if it meant never remembering.

Fenris helped as he could. He never offered any new information, instead waiting until she asked him and then answering as best he could. And when it was too much, when she was sure she couldn't endure another moment, he was there to hold her together, often times literally. She'd lost count of the number of nights she'd stumble to his room, shaking so badly she could barely walk, jaw clenched against sobbing screams, and let him hold her until she finally fell asleep. Seren needed his quiet strength, desperately. If she were alone here, with not a single person who understood, she didn't know if she'd survive with her sanity intact.

It also made her wonder _why_ he helped her so much. There was no reward in it for him. If Danarius found out, and found out Fenris had been helping her hide it, then he'd been tortured just as much as she would be. Her memories were inconsistent, but she seemed to have better luck remembering older ones. She had a few snatches of life since being sold in Tevinter, but little else. She remembered him standing in the rain, looking down at her, and she _knew_ there was something there, even had a strong suspicion, but until she truly remembered, she wouldn't push him. If he hadn't told her, he might not want her to remember.

That thought hurt more than it ought to.

The worst moment, though, was when she truly realized the full extent of what had been done to her. They were in the baths, washing off the dust of the day, when her vision had doubled as she glanced down. For a moment, instead of her body, she saw another, same shape, same size, but without the curling lines of lyrium embedded within her skin. That other body hadn't been perfect, but it had been _hers_. What Danarius had done...she'd never be free of it. No matter if she recovered every single scrap of memory, no matter if she escaped and fled as far from Tevinter she could, not matter if she ripped his heart out of his chest, she would always wear that bastard's marks in her skin.

She fell apart right there, Fenris clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries of distress and anguished sobbing. He held her while she shook, ignoring the way she clawed at his arms in an attempt to get free. He simply held her until her rage and grief had run their course and then offered her a dry rag to wipe her face with.

"I'm sorry," she said when she felt capable of speech.

Fenris frowned. "For what?"

"He's done this to both of us. I have no right to get so upset when I'm not the only one affected."

He looked down at his hand, opening and closing it slowly. "I don't remember what I looked like without these. I don't think I would recognize that man ever if I saw him." He looked up and away. "You should be upset. One of us ought to be able to feel that."

Twisting the rag in her hand, she looked away from him. "I hate this," she admitted. "I just want it to stop."

Reaching over, he worked it out from between her fingers before she could tear it. "No, you don't," he said quietly.

"No. You're right, I don't. It's just...I don't know how much more I can take."

For a long time, Fenris didn't say anything. Then he reached over again, this time taking her hands in his. He turned it over, palm up, and ran his thumb over the lyrium lines that ran over her palm and up her fingers. "You survived this," he said quietly, looking up to meet her gaze. "You can survive this," he continued, brushing his other thumb over her forehead.

Time seemed to slow around them. Seren parted her lips, but before she could say anything, Fenris got to his feet. "You should try to sleep. We're going into the city tomorrow and you'll need your wits about you." Without another word, he turned and left.

Seren watched him go, regretting more than ever that he was something she couldn't remember yet.

* * *

><p>Fenris knew that the current situation couldn't last. Seren was doing an admirable job of hiding what she was going through from Danarius, far better than he'd ever suspected she could. But with every day that passed, ever memory she regained, she was more and more her old self. And her old self had yearned for freedom with every fiber of her being. There would come a point when she wouldn't be able to take any more. And when that happened, if he couldn't stop her, he'd lose her, for good this time.<p>

He looked over, watching her sleep, glad she'd taken his advice and that it was a peaceful night for her. Too often, he found himself here, watching over her as she slept. It was risky, but he couldn't bring himself to not do it. At least this way if he were caught, the punishment would fall on him alone.

He turned his mind back to the problem at hand. Escaping was not impossible; he'd even achieved it once before he turned himself back over to Danarius. There were opportunities to flee, especially when Danarius chose to travel. Away from Minrathous, when Danarius had less power to wield, they could run. The trick would be staying free. Their world to Danarius could not be counted in gold alone, though the lyrium in their flesh was worth a small fortune. They were symbols of Danarius's power and ability, a visible showing of his strength and intelligence. Losing Fenris even for that short time had affected Danarius status, something he had taken great pains to explain to Fenris.

Grimacing, Fenris shook the memory away. Losing both of them…. Danarius's anger would know no bounds. If they ran, they _had_ to stay free. Being recaptured wasn't an option.

What kind of life would that be? With the Fog Warriors, Fenris hadn't worried about any of them working for Danarius. Here, on the continent, they would be unable to truly trust anyone. They would have to live looking over their shoulders, always waiting for Danarius to come and try to reclaim them. He didn't even entertain the notion of killing Danarius. A slave killing a high-ranking magister would bring down the wrath of the magisterium on them. They'd be hunted on principle and their dying would take a long time. And while Danarius was old, even after he died, there would be others who would try to make a bid for his lost pets. The opportunity for advancement would be too great for far too many to ignore.

Sighing, he leaned his head against the rough wall. That was even assuming Seren wanted him to come along. Though she'd told him she loved him before the ritual, she still hadn't remembered that, hadn't remembered _them_. He'd tried not to lose hope, but it grew more difficult with each passing day. The fact remained that she might never remember and he had to come to terms with that.

If she didn't...well, she had a family waiting for her. The risk of them both being near her family might be too much, especially if they weren't anything to each other. Splitting up would be the smart thing to do. It would force Danarius to divide his forces, and he knew that he would sought more than Seren. He could arguably keep her safer away from her than with her.

And he would do it, if it came down to that. He'd spent months watching a stranger wear his love's face, and more watching her suffer to reclaim herself. If leaving her meant keeping her safe, then he would do it without a moment's hesitation.

A rueful smile crossed his lips. A year ago, he'd never have imagined having these thoughts. A year ago, he hadn't known what hope was, what love was, and what fear of losing those was. It was utterly terrifying, and he wouldn't trade a moment of it. He felt..._alive_, and he was determined to do what he needed to stay that way.


	16. Chapter 16

In the end, it was Danarius who provided the final clue.

Their master had been short-tempered and snappish for he never spoke of it outright, Seren had gleaned from half-overheard conversations and glimpses of letters that Danarius's bid to set himself up as Archon was not going well. While that might normally be something to find amusement in, he was taking his frustrations out on those around him, and since she and Fenris attended him most often, they were the most frequent recipients of his anger.

It was mostly verbally, though they'd each been slapped or kicked several times for not looking up and down correctly or moving fast enough. That was easy enough to ignore, but the longer his foul temper persisted, the more Seren knew that something worse had to be coming.

That something worse happened one evening after a visit from another magister had ended. They were both waiting in attendance on Danarius when he'd snapped at Fenris to get him something to drink. Fenris had, pouring a glass of the rich, red wine Danarius favored and bringing it to him. It should have been a simply task, with no cause for concern. But as Fenris went to set the glass down on the desk, Danarius had reached for it. The collision of their hands had sent the glass tumbling, crashing onto the floor, wine splattering the desk and Danarius robes.

They both knew what was coming before Danarius even said a word. Fenris stiffened ever so slightly, muscle tensing as he prepared. Danarius lips twisted as he backhanded Fenris with a blow clearly augmented by magic. Fenris grunted slightly from the impact, but Danarius didn't say a word as he flicked his fingers, lighting up Fenris's markings and making him scream.

As she watched, hands tight behind her back, sudden flashes of memory almost made Seren stagger. Fenris on the floor of the kitchen, Hadriana standing over him, gleeful as he writhed in pain. A hot courtyard, a whip biting into her flesh, agony consuming her before strong hands cut her free and took her away. Fenris's low voice whispering to her of freedom and apologies. Standing in the rain, hands touching, then lips, then more. Devastating truths and tearful confessions.

Understanding dawned in one horrifically ill-timed moment.

"Did you have something to say, my little bird?" Danarius asked archly.

Seren forced herself to look away from Fenris and meet Danarius's gaze, shoving down every scrap of emotion. Was this how Fenris had felt? Horrified and sick at watching her suffer and unable to show it? And knowing that one slip could mean even worse suffering?

With a control she hadn't known she possessed, she shook her head. "No, Master," she said calmly, feeling anything but. Danarius held her gaze for long moments, eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she used every scrap of cunning and control she had to hold his gaze, to appear guileless and innocent of whatever he was insinuating.

Finally, lip curling in disgust, he turned away, letting the magic end, leaving only Fenris panting harshly on the floor. "Get out, both of you," he snarled. "And send someone to clean this mess up since you're both useless."

Bowing, Seren forced herself to walk past Fenris as he struggled back to his feet. She stopped the first slave she passed, a male elf whose name she didn't know, to tell him about the mess in Danarius's study. He looked more than a little afraid, but as much as she hated herself for it, Seren couldn't bring herself to care much. That task done, she strode quickly through the halls to the kitchen.

Mera was there, like always, and she looked up as soon as Seren ended. The woman was responsible for feeding most of the estate, but she also took care of the slaves as best she could. "Do you have any of that salve?" she asked the older woman.

Mera pursed her lips for a moment and then nodded, reaching into the back of a cupboard and producing a small jar. She was usually tight-fisted with it, the ingredients being difficult to come by, but she rarely denied Seren or Fenris when they asked. Maybe because it was never for themselves.

Taking the jar, Seren said, "Thank you," and left, hurrying back to her room. She stripped off her armor quickly, setting it on the stand, and finally allowed herself to think about what had just happened.

It was a given that there were a few details that still hadn't come back to her, but all of the important ones had. She had Fenris had been together. She had loved him, and going by what he'd told Leto, he loved her. And even after all her questions, he hadn't said a word about it.

She was so angry. It wasn't fair to be angry, nothing about their situation was _fair_, but it was beyond her control. All this time, he hadn't mentioned anything, hadn't given any indication of what they had been—what they were?—and she felt almost betrayed by having to figure it out for herself.

And then, almost as quickly as it had come, the anger faded. What else could Fenris have done? Had he told her, she almost certainly wouldn't have believed him. There was nothing he could have done except what he had.

How terrible had that been for him? To see her every day and know what she didn't remember him. To know that she had loved him and then see it wiped away. "_...__he's going to let me have you and then take you away."_ That was what Fenris had said Danarius was going to do and that was exactly what he had done. He'd tainted what little time they had together and then ripped it away completely.

Picking up the jar of salve, she padded over to Fenris's room. She'd heard him removing his own armor, albeit far more slowly and painfully than her own had been. He looked up she entered, lips set in a tight line, frowning first at her and then the jar in her hand.

"I'll get your back," she offered.

He shook his head. "I don't need—"

"Don't be stubborn." She sighed. "You'd do the same for me. Come on, take your shirt off."

He continued frowning at her for a moment longer and then relented, pulling his linen shirt up and over his head, sitting down on the edge of his bed with his back to her. He was as vulnerable as someone like them could be like this, and it hit her hard that she was the only one who ever saw him like this.

Prying the cork out of the jar, she sat down behind him and scooped some of the salve up with her fingers. Setting the jaw down, she smoothed it down over his back with both hands. The lyrium lines felt strange and familiar under her fingers and she bit her lip as she worked the salve into his skin.

She should give herself more time, at least to sort out how she was feeling, but with her hands on him, taking care of him, being close to him and _finally_ remembering that they had been closer was enough to have unbidden words slipping free.

"You should have told me."

* * *

><p>"You should have told me."<p>

The quiet words from behind him made Fenris tense up, making his already abused body ache further. Not certain what Seren was trying to say, he remained silent. Her hands smoothed down his back again, spreading the salve. She worked in silence for another minute before she spoke again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Fenris licked his suddenly dry lips. "Tell you what?"

"Don't!" she said sharply, arms sliding around his waist, pressing herself against his back as she clung to him. "Don't do that. Don't sit there and pretend to be ignorant."

Slowly, so as not to break her hold, he turned to look at her. Her eyes were already wet, tears ready to fall, her expression what he could only call heartbroken. His heart started to beat faster. "What do you remember?" he asked. He had to know. If she was doing this know, then she remembered something, but he had to know what.

"_Everything_," she breathed.

He covered his eyes with one hand, shuddering as he drew and released a ragged breath. He'd never truly expected this. Hoped, yes, but it had been a weak thing, even when she'd begun to recover her memories. Fenris had lost her and never expected to get her back. It should not have been possible, and yet….

Seren wrapped a hand around his wrist and tugged his hand away from his face, and then cupped her hand against his cheek. He turned more, so that he was half-facing her, and she took the opportunity to climb into his lap. It hurt, but he didn't care, pulling her closer, holding her tight enough to leave bruises. She returned the favor, her arms around his neck feeling like bands of iron.

"I'm sorry," she choked out against his shoulder. "I'm sorry I left you."

"You had no choice," he said, voice not quite steady.

She shook in his arms, trying to stem tears, breath catching on a half-sob each time she inhaled. "I left you here alone."

Fenris pulled back just enough so that he could see her. He pressed his forehead to hers, one hand sliding up her neck and into her hair to keep her there. He'd forgotten how her eyes looked when they were this close, when she loved him. "You came back," he said simply. The thought him home and overwhelmed him. It truly shouldn't have been possible, but there was no denying it. Twice he'd been given something precious, something he didn't deserve. He'd lost her once; he wasn't going to let it happen again. "You came back," he repeated, helpless and awed and, most of all, grateful.

Somehow, they ended up laying on his bed, clinging to one another. They didn't speak. Words couldn't express what Fenris were feeling, so he didn't even try. That he had her back was enough.

It was too dangerous to remain like that for long, though. He twisted, turning to look out his small window. It was still dark, but he didn't even want to imagine the consequences if they were caught like this. "You have to return to your room," he murmured.

Her grip tightened. "I don't want to."

"You _have_ to." He sat up, bringing her with him. Gently, he lifted her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Things must remain exactly as they were. We can give no one any reason to suspect things have changed. I won't lose you. Not like that, not again."

Nodding reluctantly, she slowly pushed away from him, though she didn't let go completely. "I understand."

But she didn't move. "Seren," he said after long moments had passed, "you have to go."

"I know! I know. Just...just give me a moment." Eyes squeezed shut, she took several deep breaths. Then in one hurried motion, she opened her eyes and surged forward, kissing him hard. He returned the kiss, letting himself enjoy the feel of her against him before pulling away. "_Go_," he urged.

With visible effort, she let him go and got to her feet, and like a moth to flame he followed her to his feet. He pushed her gently to the doorway. "Quickly."

She hesitated once more on the threshold, turning back to him. "I love you,' she said, voice thick. "I don't think I ever forgot that, even when I couldn't remember."

He bent to kiss her one last time. "And I you," he whispered against her lips. "Now _go_."

* * *

><p>Sleep did not come easily that night. Seren lay on her bed, staring up at nothing, wondering how she could have ever forgotten what she was feeling. Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms before she deliberately relaxed them. Fenris was right. They could not afford to let anyone suspect them. It would be hard, but not nearly as much as getting caught.<p>

The next day, she settled into her routine, knowing that if she was overly conscious of what she was doing, it could give her away. She knew Fenris was doing the same, but he'd always been better at this game than her. It was its own special torture to act as if he didn't matter, and she knew it wouldn't become easier with practice. Now that she remembered, she also remembered her goal of escaping. She wasn't going to live her entire life like this, and she wasn't going to leave Fenris behind either.

It took a week before she was sufficiently sure that they hadn't given themselves away. A week of looking without _looking_, of touching without _touching_, of going to bed alone, knowing the other was merely on the other side of a stone wall.

As before, the bath provided the place to talk. Eyes on the doorway, Seren looked at Fenris. "How are we going to escape?"

His head came up sharply and he looked around. "You are sure you wish to risk that?" he asked lowly.

"I'm not staying here, and neither are you." Her words were quiet, but firm. This life would kill them, even if they continued to exist. She wouldn't live that way, and wouldn't watch as Fenris once again became the man she'd first met.

Fenris was silent for a long time as he finished washing. Finally, after he was dressed, he looked at her. "In four months time, Danarius will be attending a symposium in Vyrantium."

Seren shook her head. "I don't know where that is," she said.

"It's south," Fenris explained, "on the river that flows in the Nocen Sea." He stopped, gathering his thoughts. "We could go upriver, then keep going south, following the Imperial Highway. It runs almost all the way to Cumberland. From there, we could take ship."

Seren tipped her head to the side, thinking. While she would have loved to see a map, she understood Fenris's plan. "Take a ship to where, though?"

Fenris looked away from her for a moment before meeting her eyes. He seemed almost guilty. "After the ritual, before you woke up, your sister came to see me."

Seren knew they had left; Fenris had told her that much when her memories began to return and she'd asked. "What did she say?" she asked.

"She told me your family was going to Kirkwall. That you had other family there."

Seren nodded. "We do. That was where we were trying to go when…" She faltered for a moment. "That had always been the plan. It's good to know that intended to stick to it. It won't be easy to find them in a city, but it's a good place to start. Between the two of us, we should manage just fine."

Fenris turned to gather his dirty clothing. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Shocked, Seren stared at him. "If that's a joke, it's a poor one," she said.

He shook his head. He looked calm, but he was twisting a rag in his hands, so tightly she thought it might split. "He will hunt us. If we go different ways, he will have to focus on one over the other. He will come after me first."

There was no need to explain who "he" was. And while she could understand the logic behind what he'd said, there was no way she was going to let him go, not without a fight.

"No," she said firmly, grabbing his arm to turn him back toward her. "No. If we do this, we do it together or not at all."

"I won't risk putting you in danger, not when I can stop it!" he insisted.

"And I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me when it means losing you!" she returned just as ardently. "We're already in danger. I'd rather face it with you than alone."

He pulled her hand off his arm, holding it between his. "You have a family. Even without me, you'll have them. If we both go...we'll be putting them at risk as well."

He wasn't wrong, but she still shook her head. "If we're a danger to them, then we'll leave. _Together_." She paused, brows pulling together in uncertainty. "Unless you don't want to come with me? If you'd rather go off on your own…."

He squeezed her hand. "No, that's not it. I am…." He sighed. "I am afraid. I know very little about how to live outside of Danarius's control. I fear I will be a hindrance, that I will put you at risk. If something happened because of me, I could not bear it."

Seren tugged her hand free, stepping closer to pull him close. "You'll be fine. You taught me how to survive in here, I'll teach you how to survive out there. I want you with me, Fenris. Even if it's risky, even if it's dangerous. As long as I have a choice, I will choose to be with you."

Fenris looked down at her, green eyes almost soft if not for the determination in them. "Four months, then."

Grasping her shoulders, he stepped back away from her. It hurt, but she understood why. Four more months of playing these roles. Well, she had survived worse. Stepping back again, she picked her own clothes and followed him out, neither speaking as they went to their own rooms.


	17. Chapter 17

Four months.

It wasn't a long time, not when Fenris considered the years he'd already spent with Danarius, or the years to come if they didn't do something. But in spite of that, each day felt like an eternity. Their plan had to be kept secret at all costs. All it would take was one mistake, one misstep, and everything—their plans, their future, their very _selves_—would be lost. So every moment was spent on a blade's edge, balancing to keep them both safe.

The tension didn't just haunt his waking hours, either. Too often he woke at night, jaws clenched around a scream. His sleep hadn't been quiet in months, but this was different. He couldn't recall the specifics once he woke, but they always left him with a sense fear and dread. A sense of loss so profound that he often found himself padding on silent feet to the cell next door to make sure Seren was still there.

The sense of relief he felt at seeing her sleeping there was immense, but never quiet enough to dispel the anxiety the nightmares caused.

He had to assume that things were similar for Seren, but he couldn't be sure. With so much riding on their ability to deceive Danarius, they'd decided that trying to spend any time alone together was too great a risk. It was difficult. To train and work with her, eat and bathe together, but be unable to touch or even talk took all of his control. There were times when they exchanged glances when they were alone, and Fenris could see what he felt reflected in Seren's face, but there was nothing to be done about it.

And their apparent falling out hadn't gone unnoticed by Danarius. He would eye the two of them, lips quirking thoughtfully. Fenris waited for the axe to fall, for Danarius to realize the game they were playing. But when Danarius finally did say something, it wasn't what he had been expecting.

"She's different, isn't she?"

They were in Danarius's study, where all these terrible conversations seemed to happen. "Master?" Fenris asked quietly, letting a trace of puzzlement color his voice. He'd gotten better at lying. He'd had to.

"Leto. My little bird isn't the same wild thing she used to be, is she?" There was something leading in Danarius's tone and Fenris stilled himself before replying.

He let his gaze flick to the window, knowing without seeing that Seren was somewhere outside. "No, Master, she is not."

Pushing his chair back and turning in it, Danarius studied him. "And does that upset you? After all, you were rather…_close_."

Praying to gods he did not believe in, Fenris shook his head. "No. It is...better this way."

"Is it?" Danarius rose, closing the distance between them until he stood directly in front of Fenris. An old, wrinkled hand came up to cup Fenris's cheek and Fenris forced himself to lean into it, just a bit, as he used to before he recognized the manipulation for what it was. "You've no idea how good that is to hear, my little wolf. For a while, I wondered if I'd lost your loyalty."

Gazing up through lowered lashes, Fenris pressed his face harder into Danarius's cool hand. "Never, Master. I am yours."

For long moments, Danarius just continued to look at him and Fenris held his gaze, determined not to let his mask slip. He'd never lied, not like this, not so blatantly. Was his ruse believable? Convincing enough that Danarius would suspect nothing? The skin on the back of his neck prickled and worry churned in his gut.

With a smile, Danarius ran a thumb over Fenris's cheekbone and then let his hand fall. "I know you are, my pet."

Surprise nearly had Fenris staggering, his head seeming to follow his master's hand as it moved away. That only served to widen Danarius's smile and he stroked a hand over Fenris's hair before returning to his seat, setting back to his work as if he'd never left it. Lightheaded with the revelation that his ploy had worked, Fenris resumed his stance. If he could lie like that with Danarius looking for deception, and make Danarius _believe_ him, then he could make it through the next two months.

* * *

><p>There was a lot of preparation for the trip to Vyrantium. The trip south would take at least several days, possibly longer depending on the weather, and Danarius want to arrive at least a week before the symposium began to settle in and meet with other magisters. The symposium itself would run for nearly two weeks, and Danarius would undoubtedly linger in the city for another few weeks before returning home. A trip of that duration would require a fair portion of the household to travel with him in order to see to his needs, and a corresponding number of guards to make sure that everything and everyone was secure.<p>

While the size of the party raised problems—with that many eyes and ears around, it would be nearly impossible to slip away—the real concern was that they were traveling by ship. On the road, there might have been opportunities to slip away, but they couldn't exactly jump into the Nocen Sea to make their escape. And once they were settled in the city, it would be harder to get out of the estate there. That left only a narrow window of opportunity; the first night, when things were still chaotic as the the household was set in order. There would be no tasks for them, things would still be packed from the trip, and Danarius would sleep in the next morning, as was his wont after travel. If they could flee that night, without anyone noticing, then they would have the entire night to gain a lead before anyone realized they were gone. And if their escape was discovered sooner, it would talk time to muster weary guards after them.

Fenris wished he could risk asking Seren. She had spent a greater portion of her life running from danger and would surely have insights, but it was a chance he couldn't take. If she found a flaw in his plan, they would have to deal with it then, and if worse came to worse, they could split up. He was confident that she could find her way south to Kirkwall on her own, and he could always follow her later, if he managed to evade his pursuers.

As far as plans went, it was thin. There were a hundred things that could go wrong and doom them, but he couldn't think of a better opportunity. It would be far, far harder to escape from Minrathous if they had to travel through the Imperium. Danarius rarely journeyed as far south as he was now, and given his previous disaster in Seheron, it was extremely unlikely he would ever go back. This would likely be their only real opportunity for years and they had to take it.

As the day to leave drew nearer, he tried to pay attention to who was going and what was being taken. Danarius's seneschal had departed weeks ago to prepare the estate, so the provisions they were taking would be for travel only. For that, Fenris was grateful. They wouldn't be able to take much, not if they wanted to move quickly, but everything would be suitable. It might not be enough to take them all the way to Kirkwall, but any little bit would help. Now all he had to do was wait.

* * *

><p>The journey to Vyrantium was interesting, Seren could grudgingly admit to herself. Most of her early time in Tevinter had been spent inside cells and she saw little of the city except on her brief trips through it. Even once she'd been bought by Danarius, most of her time was spent inside the walls of his estate. He took her into the city now that she was her bodyguard, but there was no real opportunity to look and explore what was around her. Now, though, on the road, she had nothing but time to take in all the sights the Tevinter Empire had to offer.<p>

From Lothering, she recalled the remains of the Imperial Highway that was still in use. It had held up well, obviously if it was still in use, but it was nothing like the cities and buildings she could see as they traveled. The Tevinter coast slipped by at a sedate pace and she watched it all from the rail where she'd taken to spending her time. The rest of Danarius's slaves were confined below deck and the crew gave her and Fenris a wide berth, so she was free to do as she pleased, not that there was much to do.

It was clear that Tevinter was past its heyday, but it was still impressive. Granted, she hadn't traveled very widely in her life—the past two years notwithstanding—but nothing she had ever seen even came close to matching the grandeur that seemed to be everywhere. What could Tevinter have accomplished, she wondered, if they had turned all their might and wealth to something besides their own greed and gain?

The other that caught her attention was how normal it seemed from far away. She watched fishermen on their boats, farmers the fields, women doing laundry and baking, children chasing each other. Any one of those scenes could have been from back home. She wondered if her family could have been one of them, if they could have found a place here where they wouldn't have been hunted, where her father and Bethany never would have had to fear the templars coming to take them. Would her father still be alive? Would the rest of her family never have known the deprivation and torment they had lived through?

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. It never would have worked. As much as things could be improved in Ferelden and the rest of Thedas, there was too much wrong in Tevinter to have allowed them to live a peaceful life. The spectres of slavery and blood magic would have ignited Malcolm Hawke's sense of injustice just as surely as the Circle did. And from what she had seen in Tevinter, he beliefs would have gotten him killed just as surely as the sickness that had claimed his life. There was no use dwelling on the impossible, not when she knew it would have been just as terrible, if not worse, as what actually did happen.

And, after all, there had been _some_ good to come out of what happened.

Her eyes cut briefly over to Fenris, seated at the bow, whetstone in one hand, brows furrowed as he sharpened the edge on his sword. He hadn't said anything to her, but she knew their time had to be getting close. Not knowing was distracting, intruding on her thoughts when she let them drift for too long. Fenris obviously had to have a plan of some sort, and while she trusted him, she wished she knew what it was. It would be easier for her to make contingency plans in case things went wrong, but she was left running through every possible scenario she could come up with.

At least it was a good way to pass the time.

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon when they finally pulled into the port of Vyrantium. It was huge, bigger than she remembered Minrathous's being. After a moment of thought, she realized that made sense. Since Vyrantium had access to both the river that led to the Imperial Highway running south, and the Nocen Sea, along which many major cities were located, much of the overland trade from the south—predominantly Nevarra and the Free Marches—must come up through the city before heading to the rest of the empire. And the same would hold true for trade heading south. Vyrantium was a hub, teeming with people constantly moving in and out of the city on their way to and from the rest of Thedas.<p>

Would that make it easier or harder to escape? Seren though easier. Yes, there would be many more people who could spot them, but surrounded by so many strangers, who would remember two more, especially if they were covered up and disguised? They could blend in, moving with the crush of people until they were free of the city. The hard part would come after that. Two people on their own, ones who looked or behaved furtively, would be remembered much better by local people outside the city. They would have to find a way to avoid arousing suspicions, or better yet, to avoid being seen altogether.

The answer came to her later that night, lying in the uncomfortable bunk she and Fenris took turns sleeping in. The ship was quiet, most of the crew except the night watch asleep. Lying there, listening to the water rush along the hull, she remembered what her father had told her a long time ago, if she ever had to run on her own without the family.

_"Most people travel during the day. It makes sense. But if you're running, if you need to stay hidden, travel at night. Leave when the sun starts to set, when anyone else would be setting up camp. You won't need a fire to keep you warm and there won't be anyone to see you as you pass. When the sun rises, find a spot, a good spot, and stay hidden. It's harder for someone to sneak up on you during the day, easier for you to keep watch. It's not without its risks, but it can be worth it."_

Having Fenris with her meant they could each keep a watch while the other slept. And traveling mainly at night meant there would be less people on the road to see them in the first place, and they wouldn't need to disguise themselves except for the morning and evening. And if they needed to steal, they could do it and immediately move on without having to waste time waiting for nightfall.

The idea wasn't without its drawbacks. The days were still longer, so they would have to move during at least part of the day if they wanted to stay ahead of their pursuers. And there was less visibility at night, which would probably slow them somewhat. Still, she liked the idea. Fenris—and now she as well, Seren knew—stood out to much. Fenris's hair was already an oddity, and his lyrium markings were harder to hide. Her own could be hidden behind clothing and gloves, but until they found some sort of mask or helmet, trying to hide the lines on Fenris's face might actually attract more attention, So the more they could avoid being seen, the better off they were.

She would need to talk to Fenris about it, though. He might know something she didn't. In a country full of slaves, there were surely safeguards to keep them from running away. Seren sighed, turning over. There was nothing she could do about it at the moment.

* * *

><p>They pulled into port in the late afternoon, almost. Fenris hid his relief. He'd been afraid that they would arrive too late, pushing off unloading until the morning. There were only a couple hours of daylight left. He hoped that was long enough to get to the estate and things settled before they fled.<p>

He stayed out of the way while the crew secured lines, securing the ship to the dock and setting out the gangplank. They had cargo to unload, but that would wait until Danarius had completely disembarked. The process didn't take long. The guards and slaves went first, carrying the personal belongings Danarius hadn't trusted to be sent ahead of time, before Danarius swept out of his cabin. Seren walked ahead of him and Fenris fell in step just behind his shoulder, the guards forming up around them. The streets weren't too crowded, the lateness of the day meaning most people had finished their shopping. The cafés and restaurants were busy, though, and people still had to scurry out of the way as Danarius's entourage swept through.

Once they reached the house, the slaves scurried into motion, a few trailing after Danarius to help him clean up and relax from the "rigors" of his journey, while most set to work putting things away and going to help the small staff that had already been waiting. The guards saw to their own quarters, while those who would be on duty first headed for their posts. Fenris watched, noting where the supplies were put before going to find his own quarters.

The Vyrantium estate was much smaller than the Minrathous one, so there wasn't much room for the slaves. Consequently, he and Seren had been placed in the same tiny room, with barely enough room for the two narrow cots. Seren had been sitting on one when Fenris stepped inside, and she shot to her feet, eyes wide and questioning. Fenris cast a quick glance down the hallway to ensure they were alone and then leaned close. "Tonight," he breathed. "Do not disarm. Be ready to take what you can and go on my word."

She nodded, her body relaxing for a moment before straightening. Then, without warning, she reached out and grabbed the top of his breastplate, pulling him close. She kissed him, quick and hard, no more than a press of lips before she let go and stepped back. "For luck," she murmured with a tiny grin, and slid past him out into the hall.

He watched her go, wondering if that might be the last kiss they ever had.

* * *

><p>The next few hours passed slowly. Knowing what was coming, Seren ghosted along the halls of the estate, familiarizing herself with them and where useful things might be kept. Only once did a guard start to ask her what she was doing. Seren merely stared at him until he told her not to get in the way and hurried off. It was something she had discovered that discomforted most of the guards. Merely staring at them, not saying a word, would more often than cause them to retreat. They didn't even bother Fenris at all, which probably would have eventually happened with her if she had planned on staying.<p>

Careful not to be seen, she snatched two packs and stuffed them under one of the cots. Small pouches of travel food, extra daggers and soap found their way inside the packs over the course of the rest of the evening, as did all of their spare clothing and the rags, oil and whetstones necessary to care for their armor and weapons. There were no proper bedrolls, so she folded the blankets from the cots, ready to be packed inside at a moment's notice.

If anyone saw the packs, there would be no doubt as to their purpose. This alone would be enough to condemn them and Seren found herself growing increasingly anxious as the night wore on. She knew they couldn't do this hastily, that they'd already waited months just for the opportunity, but she wanted to be gone, to take their chances and simply _go_.

It was full dark out, the entire household settled down for the night before Fenris came back, a bundle in his hands. Seren pulled the packs out, opening them up so Fenris could add what provisions he'd pilfered to them. He smiled, shaking his head faintly. "You are better at this than I," he murmured.

"I've had more practice," she returned just as quietly. Somehow, Fenris had managed to find two cloaks, lightweight, but dark. "Do we wear these?"

He looked down at their armor and frowned. "I think we have to. The markings are too noticeable, especially here when it's known that Danarius is in town. When we're out of the city, we can remove them."

"Right." She picked up the blankets, packing the blankets away. "Anything else?"

"Just this." From inside his armor, he produced a leather pouch. "I want you to carry it."

Seren reached out to take it, immediately gasping at the weight and dull _clink_ from inside. She looked up at him. "Fenris, this is…."

"He'll lose more than this when we leave. We're going to need it, aren't we?" His expression turned uncertain, and Seren nodded quickly. There had to be a least a hundred sovereigns inside, and coin like that could not only buy food and provisions, but a lot of blind eyes and safe spots to stay.

Debating for a minute, she tied the pouch tightly to her belt. If they had to, they could ditch the packs in a hurry and use the coin to get by. Then she drew one of the cloaks around her shoulders. Fenris frowned at his for a moment, before doing the same. Over his sword. He caught her look and shrugged. "It won't completely hide it, but it will help. Besides, I don't really need it."

"Somehow, I think the lyrium will attract more attention."

"Only if we use it." He glanced around, though there was nothing else to see in the room. "Are you ready?"

"I have been for months. Let's go."

Fenris picked up the pack Seren pushed toward him, keeping it low instead of shouldering it, and stepped into the doorway. He paused there, Seren right at his back. He turned and before Seren could say anything, he leaned down to brush his lips over hers. "For luck," he breathed against her lips, and slipped out into the hallway.

They crept through the house, feet silent on the marble floors. They avoided the front of the house, heading to the servant's entrance off the kitchen. Luckily, it was empty, the fire banked low until it would be needed in the morning. Fenris eased the door open, Seren waiting tensely until he eased it open further and stepped out, beckoning to her.

This late, there were only a few guards outside, and they mostly kept to their stations instead of patrolling. In general, attacks on magisters came as duels or attacks when they were out of the safety of their estates. An attack at an estate would be one of overwhelming force that the small guard would be unable to stop. So the guards weren't as alert as they could have been.

They kept to the shadows along the side of the building, creeping out to the wall when they were sure no one was looking. The gate would be the trickiest part. If she had had her lockpicks, she would have tried that, but she didn't. But they didn't, so they were going to have to use force. Fenris's brands flared briefly, accompanied by the snap of metal as he broke the lock. Then they went dark and the waited, crouched against the fence, hoping that no one saw. Tense minutes passed and when there was no outcry, no one running to see what had happened, the carefully opened the gate, creeping through and drawing it closed behind them. They looked at each other, slightly in disbelief that they'd gotten so far, and then crept into the city.

Once they were moving, Seren felt more confident. This was familiar. She drew the cloak around, hiding her features, but she didn't sneak. Kept the shadows, ducking down alleys and sidestreets, yes, but she didn't do it furtively. She moved with purpose and Fenris fell in behind her, subtly redirecting her as necessary as they headed south toward the edge of the city.

Luckily, Vyrantium was not a walled city. Too many roads wound their way in and out, and only the biggest had a formal watch on them. Seren was sure that even the smaller ones had someone keeping an eye on them, but there was no way to get around it.

In the last hidden spot they could find, they stopped. Seren needed a moment to gather herself, to take a deep breath to calm herself from the excitement racing through her. Looking at Fenris, eyes and lyrium lines nearly luminous in the dim light, she felt her nerves settle They could do this. This _would_ do this. And Maker help anyone who tried to stop them.

Taking Fenris's hand, feeling him grip it tightly, they stepped out, taking their first step to freedom.


End file.
